Once Upon A Time
by Lady Sikerra
Summary: The amorous adventures of Ichabod and his Rose.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I own Rose and other random people of randomness that were not created by Washington Irving and/or Tim Burton.

Once Upon A Time  
Prologue

Once upon a time, there was a young woman named Rose Hughes. She had silky hair that cascaded down her back like a waterfall at midnight, and delightfully dark eyes to match. Her lips were rose petals laid upon skin as white as ivory but soft as satin. She was well-mannered, well-liked, and well-endowed (in both the physical and financial sense). But for all of her good qualities, she was infamous for associating herself with the oddest of men.

Take Ichabod Crane, for example. At the tender age of seventeen, he was just coming into his manhood, something which a great majority of Rose's other acquaintances never felt he became fully used to. In Rose's eyes, the brutes with which her mother chose to associate her could perhaps slander Ichabod for his slightly girlish mannerisms, but they could not deny the intensity of his appearance. His cheekbones were high, his nose was elegant, his eyes were intelligent and soulful, and he possessed a pair of the most interest lips Rose had ever laid eyes on. Besides that, his arms and legs were long, and he was scrawny. All things considered, Rose found him positively adorable.

They were the best of friends, and had been since childhood. However, Rose's mother, Abigail, began to think less of the boy after the death of his mother. She felt that without a mother's good sense, he could easily slip into a lifestyle of debauchery and unspeakable activities that were too horrid to even think about. But, being a generally polite person, she encouraged his frequent visits, if only because the Hughes had been a second family to him.

Naturally, Rose was delighted. It was almost as if her best friend were living in the same house as she, even though Ichabod still had a father who more or less lived with him. But he was often alone, and often wanting for company. That was something Rose was more than happy to supply.

But gradually, as the years wore on and hormones began to rule the delicate lives of these childhood friends, things began to change. Rose grew into a woman, and Ichabod couldn't help but notice. However, neither could a number of potential suitors seeking a handsome face with an even more handsome dowry to accompany it. It enraged him to no end, but there was little he could do about it.

Or so he thought.

And so begins the tale of Rose and Ichabod, two beautiful young people stuck in less than pleasant situations. But theirs is not only a tale of woe; nay, it is one of discovery. Of revelations and inclinations. Of first love, so tender and sweet, and how it can so easily be snatched away.

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	2. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I own Rose and all that crap. I'm "borrowing" Ichabod Crane and his people from Tim Burton and Washington Irving, and I'm stealing my mom's birthday for Rose.

Once Upon A Time  
Chapter One

"Ichabod! Ichabod!"

Ichabod Crane looked up instantly, dark eyes expectant. Then he smiled. He knew that voice. It was _her_ voice. So he set aside his quill and leaned back in his chair, entwining his fingers and propping his boot heels on the bureau.

"Ichabod!" Heavy breathing. She must have been close. "Ichabod, where are you, you silly goose?"

"In the library!" he called in reply.

A moment later, Rose Hughes came dashing into the library, breasts heaving beneath her blue-gray dress. She went straightaway to his bureau and placed her porcelain hands upon it, breath coming in ragged gasps for a moment as she tried to regain her composure. Finally she stood up straight and adjusted her bonnet before handing him a piece of parchment. "This is for you," she said, and proceeded to seat herself on the edge of his desk.

He placed his feet on the floor again and scanned the parchment. Then he looked up at her. "An invitation?" he said, eyebrow lifting.

"Yes, to my birthday party," she said, hitting him lightly on the shoulder. "Don't tell me you've forgotten."

"Of course not," he said in earnest, and tucked the parchment away inside his raven jacket. "But won't your mother disapprove?"

"Oh, Mother won't mind," Rose assured him, waving away his fears with her dainty hand. "She knows I'll be perfectly safe surrounded by a swarm of twittering girls." Then she smiled mischievously "But I'm not so sure you'll be. They're all mad about you, you know."

He grinned along with her. "What I fail to comprehend is why your mother refuses to think me a decent young man."

"Because you're much too handsome," Rose told him. "She's afraid that a boy of your looks would too easily let flattering compliments go to his head. I suppose she's too afraid that without a mother you'll be under the influence of forces that are beyond your control." He was silent, and his smile faded. "Oh, Ichabod, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it." She leaned in to embrace him.

But he stopped her short. "No, it's all right," he said. "I know you care too much to purposefully hurt me." And a small smile returned to his lips.

She grinned and said, "And you're right to think it." And she embraced him, anyway. When she pulled away, she asked, "So will you be there? Please say you'll come. It would mean the world to me."

"How many girls are set to attend?" Ichabod asked.

"Oh, I don't know," Rose said, beginning to look contemplative. Then her mischievous smile returned. "Enough of them to pin you down and have their wicked way with you."

He suddenly pulled the invitation from his jacket and began to swat at her with it, to which she responded by letting loose a high-pitched squeal and hopping off of the desk. She then proceeded to run wildly around the Crane library, giggling, while her handsome friend chased after her, armed with faded parchment embossed in gold.

* * *

The next day was the twenty-first of November, and Ichabod had just over a week to choose a suitable gift for his best friend in all the world. So he enlisted the help of Nancy, a scullery maid whom he was not particularly fond of, but knew that she would be the one to ask about gifts for women. She was one of those maids who thought herself high above her station, perhaps because it was rumored that Lord Crane favored her above the others. This, in and of itself, made Ichabod distrustful of her, but she was the best resource he had. 

So he approached her the next morning, as she was scrubbing something or other, and tapped her lightly on the shoulder. She immediately jumped up, her brush falling to the floor. "Oh, Mister Crane," she said, her hand traveling quickly to her chest. "You frightened the life out of me."

_If only_, was the thought that passed through his mind. Instead, he gave her a rather forced smile and said, "Nancy, I've a favor to ask you."

"What is it?" she said, and proceeded to place her brush in the pail at her side.

"Well, my friend Rose is turning seventeen in about a week's time and-"

But she cut him off by saying, "Oh, that girl that came yesterday?"

"Yes," he said, ignoring her horrid manners. "Anyway, I need to find a suitable gift for her, and I thought that you might be the one to talk to when it concerns gifts for women."

She actually smiled. "Oh, Mister Crane, I'd love to help," she told him. "Whatever you need me to do, I'd be more than happy to do it."

_Oh, no_, he thought, but kept it to himself. Instead he forced another grin and said, "If that is the case, I was hoping you might accompany me on a shopping expedition so that you could perhaps advise me on what would be best to purchase for my friend."

"That would be wonderful, Mister Crane," she said. "Just gather some money and I'll meet you in the entrance hall."

* * *

Half an hour later, Ichabod and Nancy were in a jewelry shop admiring a fine black silk choker with a single tear-shaped garnet hanging from it. "Why not give her this?" Nancy suggested, and held it up. 

Ichabod considered it carefully. "Rose is not one for gaudy jewels and pieces of the like," he told her.

"Oh, come now, Mister Crane," she said, "every woman likes jewels. And is not her birthstone garnet?"

"Well, actually it's topaz," he corrected her.

"Then she'll positively adore this!" the maid said, beaming.

He knew at once that there was no reasoning with this woman, so he refused to even try. He merely plastered a forced grin on his face and said, "I'll go ask the gentleman behind the counter about its price, then." She nodded ecstatically and he turned on his heel toward the counter, more than happy to escape her company. He would rather be in the company of the gruff-looking gentleman behind the counter, which is exactly whose company he found himself in moments later. He swallowed uneasily, cleared his throat, and said, "Good morning, my good man. I'm curious, do you happen to have any blue topaz? It's for a special young friend of mine."

"Give me a moment, sir," the gruff-looking gentleman said, and disappeared into a storeroom of sorts. He reappeared a few minutes later with a choker almost identical to the one Nancy was swooning over, save for the fact that the jewel in the middle was cerulean.

Ichabod smiled. "I'll take it," he said.

"It's going to cost a bit," the gentleman said.

"Money is of no matter," Ichabod assured the man. "How much?"

The man did not reply for a moment, merely smiled. "Ah, young love," he said. "How sweet."

Color flushed into Ichabod's pale cheeks. "Oh, I beg pardon, sir, but I don't love her. She's just a friend. Her birthday comes in a week's time. I want to give her a piece of jewelry with her birthstone. So if you would just tell me how much you'd like for it-"

But the gentleman cut him off by saying, "Young man, I'm going to make you a deal. Since I'm a romantic at heart, I'd like to see how this relationship of yours turns out. If you can bring your sweetheart back here the day after her birthday with this topaz round her neck, so that I might see her for myself, then I'll let you have it at no cost to you. And she has to like it."

Ichabod was speechless. There truly were some very odd people in the world, and he was fairly certain he had just met one of them. But the man was making him an incredible offer, one he could scarcely refuse, and he wasn't about to let Rose's wonderful birthday gift slip through his long fingers quite so easily. So he said, "It's a deal, sir. But I will have you know she is not my sweetheart."

The man handed over the choker and gave a small grin. "She will be before you know it, boy," he said. "Now, get out of my shop and go buy her something else nice."

"Will do, sir," Ichabod said. But as he walked away from the counter, he mumbled under his breath, "She's not my sweetheart."

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	3. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I own Rose and Nancy and the shopkeeper dude in the previous chapter.

Once Upon A Time  
Chapter Two

Nancy sighed. "Mister Crane, would you tell me again why we are wasting our time in this dismal place?"

Ichabod scowled, but continued to sift systematically through the disorganized piles of books. "Because Rose likes to read," he told the irritating servant woman.

She scoffed. "Women don't like to _read_," she said, with a great deal of distaste in her voice. "Women like to knit and sew and chat in the parlor while having tea and scones." She sounded almost wistful.

He almost growled. "Well, be that as it may, Rose is not quite so simple as all that," he said. "She likes to read and draw and enjoys spending time in her father's library."

"She sounds odd," Nancy commented.

"Well, of course she's odd," he said, and took a book out from the pile. "That's why I like her. She doesn't act as other girls do." He flipped through the book's first few pages and did not even notice as the pile from which he had extracted it had begun to sway. Then it crashed to the floor, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Oi!" the shopkeeper called out. "Be careful, you ruffian!"

"I beg pardon!" Ichabod replied, voice shaking.

"Oh, come, Mister Crane," Nancy advised, "let us leave this place before you upset any more books."

"No," he said firmly. "Not until I have found a suitable book for Rose."

Nancy sighed again. "Well, what does she like to read?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Lots of things." He plucked another book from a nearby pile, wary of the pile's stability. As he replaced the book a moment later, something suddenly clicked in his mind. "But she especially likes poetry. Yes, I'll get her a book of poetry." He strode up to the shopkeeper at his desk and asked, "My good man, have you any books of poetry?"

"What kind of poetry?" the shopkeeper asked, not looking up from his ledger. "Love poetry?"

Ichabod blushed for the second time that morning. "I suppose," he said meekly.

The shopkeeper pointed to a stack of books in a corner near the entrance to the shop. "Over there," he said, "you'll find plenty of them."

Without another word, Ichabod dashed away and began to search the pile for something more along the lines of _friendly_, rather than _romantic_. In the end, he found a book with a collection of sweet little verses that he thought were appropriate, and he purchased it without any other incident. Then he returned to Nancy, who asked, upon noting the book in his hand, "Are you ready to leave now?"

"Yes," he grumbled, and they were off.

* * *

Young Ichabod spent the next few days attempting to come up with a birthday card that would match the quality of his gifts. He had a hard time of it, unaccustomed to the writing of sensible rhyme. He finally decided he would make it a private letter to Rose telling her just how special she was and how much she meant to him and how miserable his life would be without her, with only Nancy for company. 

One night, after he had finished his letter, he went in search of the stamp that held the Crane family crest. He could not find it in the library, nor in his own room, when it occurred to him to search his father's study. This was something with which he was not entirely comfortable, seeing as he and his father did not get on at all well. In fact, they avoided each other as often as they could, which was surprisingly often, since his father was not often at home.

But on the eve that he went searching for the stamp of his family's crest, Lord Crane happened to have returned unexpectedly early. And he was sitting in his study, staring vacantly out of the window. He was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he hardly noticed when his son entered the room. But Ichabod noticed him. "Oh," he said softly. "I beg pardon, sir. I meant not to disturb you."

Lord Crane's ears perked up, like a dog who had caught scent of a fox. Then he stood and turned to face his son, clearing his throat. "Worry not," he said, "you have caused no disturbance. But why have you come? You do not often enter my realm."

"I was merely searching for the stamp with our crest upon it," he said meekly, "so that I might seal a letter."

"Seal a letter?" Lord Crane repeated. "To whom is the letter addressed, boy?"

"Rose Hughes, sir," Ichabod replied, dark eyes cast at the floor.

The Lord Crane almost smiled. Well, it was more of a twitching at the corner of his mouth, but it was as close to a smile as he was ever going to get. His dark eyes, which he had passed on to his son, shone with an endearing sort of amusement, something often alien to his stern features. "She is in your company often, is she not?"

"Yes, sir."

"Stop calling me _sir_," Lord Crane commanded, more harshly than he had intended.

Ichabod took a moment to reply. He swallowed and asked, "What else would you have me call you?"

"_Father_, of course," Lord Crane said, but his son's words were like a knife through the back. Then again, he could not expect anything different from the boy, for the two of them had never been close, nor even comfortable being in the same room. So he cleared his throat and said, "The stamp is in the bureau, in the third drawer on the right."

Without a word, Ichabod moved to the bureau and began to search through the aforementioned drawer. Before long, the stamp was found and he quietly said, "Thank you, Father." And then he left.

* * *

In the days that followed the stamp incident, Ichabod saw no more of his father. He passed by the study once more, and leaned against the oaken doors to hear what might be going on inside, but the only sound that greeted his ears was silence. However, he did become so bold as to place his hand upon the knob and turn it ever so slightly, but he could not open the door. He was afraid of what might be waiting for him on the other side. 

So he turned his thoughts away from his father and onto Rose. Her birthday approached swiftly, like a rider galloping up on a noble steed. And before he was too much aware of time's passage, the day arrived, and he found himself striding determinedly across her front lawn and onto her porch, dressed smartly in a wine red suit with golden embroidery, and a tricorn hat upon his head. He held his gifts behind his back as he knocked upon the door.

It was answered a moment later by a strawberry-blond maid whom he knew to be called Katherine. "Good day, Mister Crane," she said, and gave a curtsy.

"Good day, Katherine," he replied, and bowed in return. "I am here to see Miss Hughes. I hope I have not arrived too late..."

"Oh, not at all, sir," Katherine assured him. "The girls have all just sat down to open gifts. They're in the parlor. If you would follow me, sir..." So he followed her into the parlor, where half a dozen or so girls sat crowded around the fireplace, giggling and whispering amongst themselves. It took all of Katherine's volume for her to say, "Presenting Master Ichabod Crane." And then she quickly bowed out, leaving the aforementioned Ichabod alone with a gaggle of girls.

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	4. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I own Rose and all the party-goers. Except Ichabod.

Once Upon A Time  
Chapter Three

"Look, everyone! It's Ichabod!"

"Ichabod!"

Ichabod only had time to mutter a quick, "Oh, dear," before he was bombarded by five female bodies. They charged at him, armed with hugs and kisses, and by the time it was all over, his fine velvet hat was quite askew.

"All right, all right, that's enough," the birthday girl said, and her companions all stepped aside. Rose approached Ichabod with a smile on her crimson lips and a happy twinkle in her chocolate eyes. "Hello, Ichabod," she said, and gave him a curtsy.

He bowed low in response, then took her porcelain hand and kissed it. "You should curtsy to no one on this day, Rose. It is your day." Her smile only widened. "I have brought some gifts for you." He pulled his hand out from behind his back, revealing two wrapped packages and an envelope. "But first, you must have this." He pulled a deep red rose from his jacket.

She gasped. "Oh, Ichabod..." She took it from him and tucked it into her hair. "It's lovely."

"No more lovely than thee," he told her. "I also have these for you." He held out the gifts.

She took them from him and greedily ripped the first open. "Oh, a book of poetry." She looked up at him and gave a silly grin. "Thank you, Ichabod."

"Open the other one."

She did, and the look on her face could not have been more priceless. She dropped the parchment it was wrapped in, quickly placed the poetry book and unopened envelope on a nearby table, and held up the second gift. The blue topaz glinted in the weak sunlight that filtered through the windows, and a collective gasp floated into the air. "Oh, Ichabod," she said again, and looked as though she might cry.

"Here," he said, and took it from her. He traveled round to the back of her and brushed her raven hair away, letting it hang over her left shoulder. Then he undid the clasp on the necklace and reached his hands up over her head, allowing the jewel to rest around her neck as he fastened the clasp again. Once this was done, he took her shoulders and led her to the mirror above the hearth, pulling her hair back so that she might admire her trinket.

"Oh, Ichabod," she said for the third time, and it didn't take long for the girls to gather around her. They nearly shoved Ichabod out of the way. "It's so beautiful. Wherever did you get it?"

"Oh, I just bought it in town," he told her, but he was scowling. Absolutely too many girls...

"It must have cost you an arm and a leg," she said.

Of a sudden, one of the girls, a buxom redhead, turned around and grabbed his coat, checking for something. "No, he's all there," she said, and a collective giggle rose into the air.

Rose turned to face him, smiling and slapping the redhead away. "Oh, stop it," she said. "It's a wonderful gift, Ichabod. Thank you." And she embraced him tightly, giving him a light kiss on the cheek. He blushed profusely, but only hugged her tighter to stop the other girls seeing. But she pulled away after a moment and said, "Now, Mother's had a beautiful cake baked, and she even had someone go into town to buy ice cream." The girls cheered. "So let us not waste it."

* * *

"Thank you for saving me from all of them," Rose said quietly as she leaned her cheek on Ichabod's shoulder. "I really don't enjoy being with them so much as my mother makes it seem. I'd rather spend time with you." 

"Oh, I didn't rescue you," Ichabod said, smiling at her even though she could not see it. "You distracted all of them every time they got to be too much for me." He shuddered. "And that happened disturbingly often."

She laughed, the sweetest sound on earth. "Well, it doesn't surprise me at all, you know," she told him. "You're very fascinating."

"Flatterer," he muttered.

"Of course I am," she admitted. "But only to you and only because you deserve it."

Of a sudden, a cool autumn breeze started up, stirring the fallen leaves into a frenzy. It tugged at the flower in her hair, and he pinned it back gently, pushing a few raven locks behind her ear as he did. The breeze blew again, causing the tree above them to shake. They looked up as one, just in time to see a large mass of crimson leaves fall down upon them. She laughed again and rose from the fallen tree, dancing through the scarlet flurry, ebony hair swinging and emerald skirts twirling. Watching her, he felt a very strange pain in his stomach. Only, it was not pain. He did not know what it was, but he knew it was not normal.

She must have noticed, for she stopped her spinning and focused her attention on him, waiting for her breath to calm before asking, "Is everything all right, Ichabod?"

"What?" Then he looked up at her and cleared his throat. He rose from the fallen tree and said, "Yes, everything is fine, but I am feeling just a tad unwell. Perhaps it was all the excitement from the party, or perhaps it is some grave illness. I would not want you to catch such an illness, so I suppose I will be on my way."

"All right," she said, trying to mask the concern in her voice. Instead, she gathered her skirts and strode toward him, wrapping her arms around him tightly as she reached him. "I will call on you tomorrow to see how you fair. When is a good time?"

"Noon, shall we say?" He pulled away from her, holding her at arm's length, then kissed her forehead, noticing a sharp stab in his stomach. He let go of her and turned away, saying softly, "Happy birthday, Rose."

* * *

The next day, still concerned about the fluttering feeling in his stomach, Ichabod sought out Bertha, an old woman who lived down the road and who had been a friend to his mother before her death. Bertha knew all their was to know about any sort of medical problem, as well as how to cure it. She would often give out tonics to the locals, and she cooked up special salves for any kind of cut and burn one could imagine. If there was something wrong with him, Bertha would know what to do about it. 

So he knocked upon her door that day, on the first of December, and was greeted by a pretty young maid with honey hair and emerald eyes. "Hello," he said, "I am Ichabod Crane, come to see your mistress. Is she at home?"

"She is always at home," the young maid replied. Then she said, "Follow me." He stepped into the house, waiting as the young maid shut the door behind him, and then followed her into the bowels of the house and up numerous flights of stairs. Finally they reached a foreboding-looking hall, with one scraggly-looking door at the end, and the maid pointed to it.

He stared down the hallway, apprehension taking control. He looked up at the maid, his eyes pleading, and asked, "Is that where you mistress is, in that room down there?"

"She never leaves," the young maid said.

He audibly gulped, then asked, "Is it all right if I just go in?"

"Be sure to knock first," the maid said, and left the young man to deal with the strange old woman all by his lonesome.

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	5. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: Ichabod is not mine. But, strangely, everyone else is.

Once Upon A Time

Chapter Four

Ichabod Crane swallowed his fears and rapped lightly upon the door. A moment later, a soft voice came from within, saying, "Enter."

He swallowed again, and slowly turned the doorknob. He pushed the door open with the greatest hesitation, and stepped lightly into the old woman's room. Now, strange as it may seem, he had never laid eyes on ancient Bertha before, not once in his life. While his mother had still been living, she had forbidden him to accompany her on her semi-frequent visits to the decrepit spinster. And since his mother had died, he had not gone to Bertha once, relying instead on his father's servants when he felt ill. But he would like to think that if he could survive two hours or more with a gaggle of half a dozen silly teenage girls, he could surely face one old woman.

He would have _liked_ to think that.

But as he closed the door behind him and turned to face Bertha, his courage deserted him. He felt quite faint, and grasped the doorknob to keep himself upright, shutting his eyes tight against the world. A few deep breaths later, he felt comfortable enough to open his eyes and survey his surroundings.

The room was clearly a bedroom, but it was so crowded with refuse that he could only make out a bed. And in that bed was a frail old woman, just a stick figure drowning in a sea of plump pillows and heavy blankets. There was nothing frightening about her at all, he decided. In fact, the poor old dear even appeared to be blind.

At least, that was him impression until she said, out of thin air, "Ichabod Crane."

He nearly jumped out of his skin in shock. But he managed to calm himself enough to say, "Yes, it is I. How did you know that?"

Bertha smiled. "I cannot see, but you have love in your heart," she said. "Just like your mother."

He grimaced at the mention of her. But then another thought occupied his mind. "So you are blind?"

"Perhaps," she said, "but I can see so clearly with my inner eye that my physical blindness hardly matters."

"Well, I am glad to hear that you have such a positive outlook on your disability." He regretted the words the moment he said them, and nearly slapped his forehead for his idiocy.

But she did not seem to notice. "Why have you come, boy?" she asked.

"Well, I began to feel ill yesterday, and the feeling has not yet left me," he explained. "I thought that if something was the matter with me, you would be the one to know."

She was silent for a moment, then patted her bed with her frail hand. "Sit," she said, and he was too in awe of this woman's powers to disobey her. "What did you do yesterday?" she asked.

"I attended a birthday celebration for my dear friend Rose," Ichabod told her. "She turned seventeen yesterday."

"Congratulations to her, then," Bertha said. "What time did you first start feeling ill, do you recall?"

"It was after her party, around four in the afternoon, I believe."

"And what were you doing at four in the afternoon?"

"I was outside with Rose."

"What were you doing with Rose?"

"I was talking with her."

"Is that all you were doing?"

Of a sudden, he searched her face for something, for any hint of a smile or a smug warmth in her useless, clouded over eyes. But when he found none, he replied, "No. A breeze started up and Rose began to dance as the leaves fell upon her."

"Is that when your stomach began to hurt?" she asked.

He opened his mouth to respond, but closed it quickly. "How did you know my stomach began to hurt?" he asked instead.

"My boy, there are things I know about you that you have yet to discover," she said. "For instance, I happen to know that you will fall in love with a beautiful and kind young woman, and then you will make love to her under the full moon, and then she will bear your child. I do not yet know the gender of the thing, but the child will seek you out when you are grown and have forgotten about Rose."

He stood at this, outraged. "I shall never forget the woman I love!" There was a dead silence in the room then, with Ichabod white as a sheet and Bertha smiling to herself.

"Young man," the old woman said, as though he had not just professed his love for his best friend, "the pain in your stomach is called love sickness. You are ill because, quite simply, you are in love. Yet you feel acutely ill when you are around the girl whom you love. In this case, that girl would be the Rose of whom you speak. I suggest that you simply let the illness run its course, because it will go away on its own, but it won't budge if you try to force it out. The cure," she went on, still smiling, "if you so desire it, is to tell your Rose how you feel. And trust me, Ichabod Crane, she will not reject you. Now be gone with you, and do not be late when Rose comes to call."

* * *

Ichabod supposed a part of him had always known it, ever since the day she announced that she was truly a woman. He'd known even then that things were going to be different, that things would change, but he hadn't expected the revelation to come in the midst of an old woman who was a mildly-gifted mind reader. 

Ichabod sighed and turned over onto his back, away from the wall.

He had been lounging on the sofa since he had returned from Bertha's, silently thinking. He had thought about Rose, he had thought about himself, he had even thought about his father, for some unfathomable reason. But the one thing he had not thought about was denying the fact that he loved Rose. Rose was the only reason he dragged himself out of bed each morning, for what else did he have to look forward to? Rose was the reason he could not sleep at night, for she always occupied his drowsy thoughts. Rose was the reason he would smile at nothing, for the memory of her laughter and her smile would set him to grinning.

There was no use denying it.

Except, perhaps, when the lady herself came to call.

There was a light rapping at the open double doors of the library, and he sat up of a sudden to see her standing there wearing a beautiful plum gown that enveloped her delicate body in folds of dark velvet. Her raven hair was down, and mussed, as though she had not yet had it combed today. There was an odd, unreadable expression on her face, but he tried to ignore it as he greeted her. "Good afternoon, Rose," he said, voice breaking on her name.

She gave a small smile, emotion unreadable. "Good afternoon, Ichabod. Is your stomach better?"

"Much," he replied, though he was not so certain of his own words at that moment.

"Were you able to be diagnosed?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, then sighed. "But perhaps you'd best sit down to hear it." He strode to her, taking her porcelain hands in his, and lead her to the sofa he had previously occupied. He sat them down on it and began to run his thumbs in small circles over her upturned palms. Barely noticing the concerned look on her face, he began to speak. "Rose, this morning I went Bertha, that kind old healer woman down the road-"

She cut him off suddenly, saying, "I have heard it said that Bertha is a witch."

"Now, Rose," he said, giving a nervous chuckle, "you mustn't believe everything you hear. Anyway, I paid her a visit and told her of my stomach ache and she said..." His voice deserted him for a moment, but he quickly coughed and it returned to him again. "She said that the pain was caused by...love sickness."

She was silent for a long time, staring blankly at him. Then she asked, "Ichabod, do you mean to tell me that you...?"

"Love you?" he finished, pulling her closer to him. "Yes, I do, I love you very much."

* * *

Weak ending, I know. Sorry. The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	6. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: Only Rose is mine.

Once Upon A Time

Chapter Five

Silence was the only sound that could be heard in that library for a long moment. In that moment, Rose did not look at Ichabod; indeed, she looked at everything else in the room but him. She averted his pleading gaze for as long as she dared, until she could not stand the silence any longer. She looked at him then, her chocolate eyes made all the brighter for the tears that sparkled within them, and said, in a quiet, hoarse voice so unlike her, "You cannot possibly know how long I have waited to hear you speak those words."

He let out a great shuddering breath at this, a breath he had not known he was holding, and leaned into her. He embraced her tightly, wrapping his arms around her in a grip that wordlessly promised he would never let her go. She did the same, slipping her arms underneath his and digging her nails into his back, clutching at his skin beneath the cloth. And together they wept.

They wept for joy, they wept for their long and mutual foolishness, they wept so that they might dry the tears from each other's eyes. And eventually they pulled away, but still held firmly to one another's arms, each wrapping their long and slender fingers around one another's elbows. She chewed on her bottom lip, trying to stop a dam breaking in her eyes and flooding her face with salty droplets. He sniffed once and blinked twice, employing a different method to stop his tears.

After another moment of silence, Ichabod reached up and ran his hand along her moist cheek, splaying his fingers and pressing them gently into her flesh. He placed his left hand on her other cheek, so that he held her face gently in his hands. He ran his thumb along the flesh beneath her eyes, wiping away her tears. He stared at her for a moment after that, just stared at her, then whispered, "It took a blind old woman to make me see how beautiful you are, believe it or not."

She smiled and attempted a small laugh. "You're a smart man," she said. "You would have figured it out sooner or later."

He leaned his face nearer to hers, so that their foreheads touched. She brought her hands up and twined her fingers in his as he said, "Yes, but I wish it would have been sooner. Then perhaps I could have done this some years ago." And of a sudden, he pulled away and leaned in again, claiming her lips in a passionate kiss.

* * *

They lay together on the floor for a long time after that, as the sofa could not hold both of them. They held hands and talked about anything, everything. They laughed and smiled and kissed some more. There was a time, during one of their spontaneous fits of laughter, that he unexpectedly wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her on top of him. She stopped giggling then and stared down at him, her raven hair falling over her shoulder and brushing his cheek. She rested her head on his chest and sighed contentedly. "God, I love you," she breathed, sounding sleepy. 

He hugged her shoulders and said, "And I love you." He sighed as well. "I still can't believe I didn't realize it earlier."

"It's all right," she said. "I don't blame you. Men are slow about these sorts of things. It is a rare man who will admit his feelings _and_ act upon them accordingly." She smiled, even though he could not see it. "You are a rare man, Ichabod."

"And you are a rare woman, Rose," he said.

"I am not," she retorted. "There are plenty of women out there who have a difficult time restraining themselves when you enter the room."

He gave a silent laugh, ruffling her raven hair with his huffing breath. "I suppose," he said, "but none of them can hold a candle to your intellect and beauty."

"Well, if Ichabod Crane thinks I am intelligent," she said, "then it must be so." They were silent for a time, smiling madly, but then Rose became serious. "Ichabod," she said, "I must confess that I am frightened."

He pushed her away at that, setting both of them upright. "Of what?" he asked worriedly, his ebony eyes shining with concern.

She sighed, but it was not a contented sigh. "I did not want to say anything," she said, "that might spoil the moment, but I feel I must voice my concerns. Yesterday, after you left, my parents received a visit from Mister Hall."

"James Hall?" Ichabod asked.

"Yes," said Rose. "He and I exchanged a few polite words, and then he disappeared into the east drawing room with my parents. I fear they are plotting my marriage."

"But James Hall," Ichabod said again. "He is more than twice your age."

"They do not care," she said. "He is wealthy, that is all that matters to them."

Ichabod embraced her again, rocking her slightly as she began to weep into his shoulder. "Hush, hush," he said softly, stroking her hair. "I shall not let them do this to you. I shall not let them take you away. I love you too much for that."

* * *

The next day Ichabod and Rose rode to the jewelry shop to display the topaz. Ichabod explained to Rose his strange bargain with the jeweler, and she laughed and smiled and marveled at how odd people could be. He was glad she was not upset; it was a strange request, and he himself was wary. But Rose seemed to think it all right, and if anything went wrong, he would be there to protect her. 

So they entered the shop, and Rose gasped at the sight of so many sparkling stones, and Ichabod called out to the back of the shop, "Hello?"

A moment later, the jeweler emerged from some back room, and he grinned a wide grin. "Ah, it's you!" he cried jovially. "Did your special sweetheart like the topaz?"

"Yes, she liked it very much," Rose said, emerging from behind a display case that held various diamonds.

The jeweler gasped and beckoned her forward. He lifted her chin and fingered the jewel, smiling at her all the while. "Oh, it's beautiful," he said. "And so are you," he added. "A pretty stone for a pretty girl."

She smiled in reply and said, "Thank you. It is indeed very lovely."

"Ah, your boy chose a good one," the jeweler said, and released her. "Speaking of which, I never did catch your name, boy."

"Ichabod Crane, sir," Ichabod replied.

"And what's your name?" the jeweler asked the girl.

"Rose Hughes, sir," she told him.

"Ah, Ichabod and his Rose," the jeweler said, smiling widely. "Well, I hope you two spend many a happy day together. And I hope you think first of me for all your jewelry needs. Now get out of my shop and have a good time."

* * *

The rest of the day was spent puttering around town, looking in this shop or that, whatever caught Rose's fancy. There was even a horse race that day that attracted a particularly large crowd, and Rose was able to win a small sum of money all on her own. It was quite a pleasant afternoon, actually. 

Until Ichabod returned home, that is.

He bid Rose a sweet good-bye and entered his home, smiling and cheerful. However, his spirit was quickly crushed by a scream from the kitchen and the sound of a crash. Of a sudden, his enraged father came storming out of the kitchen and into the main hall, his hair disheveled and his waistcoat unbuttoned. He spotted Ichabod in an instant, and the terrified boy backed up until he was pressed against the wall.

But not even that could stop his father's wrath.

The man came up to him and slammed his hands into the wall on either side of Ichabod's head, essentially trapping him. "Where the bloody hell have you been?" he screamed, and his son cringed.

"I was out with Rose," he answered quietly, turning his head away.

"You will look at me when I speak to you!" his father commanded, and grabbed his face roughly. He forced Ichabod to look him in the eye as he yelled, "You will tell me where you are planning to go before you leave! You will not run off for an entire bloody afternoon without an explanation! Is that understood?" When Ichabod made no reply, he slapped the boy hard across the face, then asked again.

"Yes," Ichabod said weakly, his face throbbing with pain.

"Good," his father said, and he released his son. And as he stomped off down the hall, Ichabod held his sore cheek and sunk slowly to the floor, weeping silently.

* * *

Shit, I'm like, full of angst. Wow, I must have a lot of repressed anger issues. Writing really does relieve stress, though. Thank God for it. The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	7. Chapter Six

Disclaimer: I really own everyone except Ichabod. That happens often in my stories, I've found. Go figure.

Once Upon A Time  
Chapter Six

Rose stopped by the next day, as could only be expected, but her cheerful smile vanished the instant she laid eyes on Ichabod. She gasped and ran to him, immediately taking his face in her hands. He winced at the touch; his cheek was still sore from his father's abuse the previous day. "Oh, Ichabod, what happened?" she asked, stroking the red mark gently.

"My father," he muttered.

"Your father did this to you?" she asked, staring at him in shock. He only nodded. "Oh, Ichabod, I'm so sorry." She hugged his head to her chest, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. She stroked his hair back as he nuzzled his face into her bosom and hugged her. "What happened?"

He was silent for a moment; he wasn't even exactly sure what had caused this unusual occurrence. Oh, of course his father had beaten him before, but there had never been any serious damage and the regular abuse had stopped six years ago. Lord Crane had not laid a hand on his son since then, with the exception of the previous day. "I think he must have been drunk," Ichabod said at last. "I could smell it on his breath. He must have been angry that I'd disappeared without a word to him, but I can honestly confess that I didn't think he would mind. If he wondered where I was, I assumed he would just ask Nancy. I told her where I was going."

"Perhaps Nancy merely neglected to inform him of your whereabouts," Rose suggested. "She can be quite forgetful at times."

He sighed. "I suppose you're right," he said quietly.

"But that still doesn't justify what he did to you," she told him. "It was wrong of him to hit you, no matter what information was shared. Or wasn't."

"Tell me, Rose," he said after a moment, "what do you think of my father?"

She took a moment to formulate her response. "I think that when he puts his mind to it, he can inspire a certain amount of respect. But he can also be a horrible person when in a foul mood. Then again, I hardly ever see him anymore, so his demeanor may have changed since the last time I spoke with him."

"It hasn't," Ichabod said quietly. "He's been the way he is for as long as I can remember, and I don't think he's ever going to change."

"Well, I suppose we can only hope that he does," she said. "If only for your sake." They were silent then, and Ichabod raised his head to be level with hers. Their lips were locked an instant later.

* * *

The pair of them, both doubtful of Ichabod's safety in his own home, went immediately to the Hughes' house, where they were greeted by Rose's parents and Mr. James Hall. James Hall was a man who did not impress his peers as any great force with which to be reckoned because of his physical appearance; he was no taller than Ichabod and rather scrawny. His hair was brown and his eyes were an oddly-fascinating mix of blue and gray and green. His nose had a strong and aristocratic point, and his lips were markedly thin. He had the ability to look stunningly sinister when he put his mind to it, and that was perhaps his most interesting quality. He had a way with words and women, which is why Ichabod found it strange that he was finally choosing to settle down. And with Rose, who was his opposite in every way. No, Ichabod Crane did not trust him at all. 

And his smile was positively wicked, full of malice and spite towards the young man, but with a pinch of sugary sweetness thrown in for the nubile red Rose. "Ah, so my sweet young Rose finally blossoms," he said, and took her frail hand in his. His fingers were long and nimble, and they danced along her palm as he raised her hand to his lips, winking at her as he kissed it.

"Good afternoon, Mister Hall," Rose said, drawing her hand away. "Have you met my friend, Ichabod Crane?"

James blinked slowly and glanced at Ichabod with such a look of contempt that the young man gulped. He was afraid of James Hall, James Hall who had often been seen in the company of the deceased Lady Crane for years before her death. It was at that moment that Ichabod realized that the man standing before him could very well be his true father, for rumors had circulated throughout his childhood that Lord Christopher Crane had been unwittingly duped by his wife. Staring at the sinister man's nose, it made perfect sense.

"Yes, I have had the pleasure of meeting young Ichabod Crane on more than one occasion," James said. "In fact, if you all remember, I was quite well-acquainted with his mother." Ichabod bit back a sharp retort at this. But before anyone could say anything else about the matter, James suddenly slung an arm around Ichabod's thin shoulders and said, "Since we have all observed the proper greetings, I must have a private word with young Ichabod Crane." James led the boy in the direction of the east drawing room, barely giving Ichabod enough time to glance back at powerless Rose in fear.

* * *

"Here is your Crane, Miss Hughes." Mr. Hall pushed Ichabod into the Hughes library and tipped his tricorn at the young people before saying, "I bid you good day." He smiled at them once and closed the door, catching Ichabod's coattails between it and the frame. 

Rose stood immediately from her place at the bureau and rushed to him, reaching out as he pried his coattails out of the door jamb. "Oh, Ichabod," she said, "are you all right? I was so worried when he carted you away. He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No, I'm perfectly all right," Ichabod said, brushing himself off. "But he made me wonder about a few things."

"Come and sit on the sofa," she said, and took his hand to lead him over to the sofa by the hearth. They sat down on it, facing one another, and Rose took Ichabod's hands in hers. "What sort of things, darling?" she asked.

He sighed and said, "Well, do you remember, years ago, when there was some question of who my father truly was?"

"Oh, yes, there were questions about that until you were seven," she said.

"Well, I am beginning to think that there could perhaps be some truth to those rumors," Ichabod admitted.

Rose gasped. "You don't mean to say-"

But he quickly interrupted her. "I do. And I feel that I must speak to Bertha again, just to be sure."

She said nothing for a moment, then asked, "What is it about Bertha that allows you to put so much faith in her?"

Of all the things she could have said, he had not expected that. "I don't know," he replied after a time. "I just...trust her. Perhaps it is because my mother trusted her. And anyone my mother trusted is an ally indeed."

She nodded after a moment, staring distractedly at the fire. "You're going to need some time to think, aren't you?" she asked.

He sighed, smiling. "Rose, you can read me like a book." He caressed her cheek gently, and she gave him a small grin. "Yes, if you would not mind it terribly, I would like some time to think. And on the morrow I shall go to Bertha. Shall I call on you when I return from my visit with her?"

"Yes, that would be lovely," she said.

"Then that is what I shall do." He kissed her on the lips once before standing and saying, "Good-bye, Rose. I shall see you tomorrow." And then he left without another word.

* * *

Woah, plot twist! Oh, and I figure that I'll shamelessly self-advertise while I'm at it. I'm currently working on a piece of original fiction that I may consider publishing some time in the future. If any of you are interested in reading a bit of it, let me know. The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	8. Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: I own Rose and all them other people. Ichabod, however, is not mine.

Once Upon A Time  
Chapter Seven

"Oh, are you back again?" The same servant woman who answered Bertha's door for his first visit stood before Ichabod again, staring at him quizzically.

"Indeed," he said.

She stepped back and held the door open further. "You know where to go," she said.

"I do," he told her, though the reply was not necessary. She stepped aside and he pushed forward, up the stairs which he remembered and down the haunting hall. He stepped up to the door, raised his hand, but he barely got the chance to knock before the voice of Bertha came drifting out into the corridor. "Enter," the old woman rasped.

So he turned the brass knob and entered, shutting the door behind him as he stepped inside. And there sat blind old Bertha in the center of the bed, looking half asleep with her unseeing eyes closed. But a small smile played across her lips as she said, "Hello, Ichabod Crane."

"Hello, Bertha," he replied, stepping closer to the bed.

"Your father was here late last night," she said. "He was asking about you."

"My father?" he repeated.

"Not the man you think."

His expression changed, though she could not see it. "So it is true then?" he asked. "Daniel Crane is not my father."

"He is not," she said. "But may I be so bold as to ask how you came to this conclusion?"

"I have my ways," he said, lacing his fingers together. He said no more.

"Then you must have your ideas about who your father truly is?"

"Is my father James Hall?" He was afraid to ask the question, but he managed to inquire after his currently questionable parentage without much difficulty.

Her smiled widened. "Your rival for Rose's affections is indeed the one who gave you that nose of yours," she said, pointing at him although she could not see where he stood. "You are, as your child will be, a Hall after all."

He almost laughed. "What irony," he murmured.

"Indeed," she agreed.

They were both silent for a moment before Ichabod recalled, "You said earlier that my father came to you last night. What did he ask you and what did you tell him?"

"He asked if Ichabod Crane was not a Crane," Bertha said, "and I told him much the same thing as I told you, that he is your true father. Then he asked Rose's first child would truly be his, and I told him that he would share blood with the girl. I did not say how tainted she would be with Knightley blood. I owe it to your mother to protect you first and foremost; I feel no remorse in deceiving her former lover."

He merely nodded, but then another thought occurred to him. "Did you say girl?" he asked. "Do you mean to say that Rose and I shall have a daughter?"

"Yes," she said, "but you shall not know not her until she is grown. And there shall be a man with her, her betrothed. I do not yet know his name, but he plays a large part in both of your lives." She inhaled a deep breath then, sitting up straighter as she did. "Now go," she said suddenly, pointing at the door. "Be gone, for I sense your father. Quickly now; he is near to your Rose."

"Yes," he said, and backed out of the room hastily. "Thank you, Bertha," he said, just as he closed the door. He then ran out of the house with the utmost haste, and he soon found that the blasted horses could not run quite fast enough.

* * *

"Oh, Ichabod, thank God you've arrived." Rose threw her arms around him instantly, nuzzling her face into his chest as his arms wrapped themselves about her waist. But she pulled away an instant later, looking worried. "He is with them again," she said, glancing briefly at the door to the east drawing room. "They've been in there for hours; none of them have come out. I fear that the plans are becoming more final, that something is actually going to happen. Oh, Ichabod, what will we do?" She buried herself in him once more. 

He placed his arms around her comfortingly, with one hand on the small of her back and the other stroking her hair. "I do not know," he told her. "At present, all we can do is wait and see how this entire ordeal plays out, and then act accordingly."

She sighed and said, "You are always able to produce the greatest words of wisdom, Ichabod."

"And yet I feel so unwise," he said quietly.

She pulled away again, staring up into his eyes with a concerned look on her face. "What could you possibly mean?" she asked.

"Rose," he said, "I have recently found out that James Hall is my true father, not Daniel Crane."

Rose gasped and held a dainty porcelain hand to her mouth. "So the rumors were true," she said. "But...but how do you know?"

"Bertha told me," he said, "and I trust her strange sort of wisdom. She seems to know things that it is impossible for others to know."

And again that question arose: "Why do you have so much faith in her?"

"Because my mother trusted her," Ichabod said. "My mother trusted Bertha quite dearly, from what I have gathered. I trust my mother's judgment, and so I trust Bertha. In all things." He chose not to reveal to her the little piece of information that Bertha had now told him twice: that he and Rose would make a child.

Rose nodded. "Yes, a mother's judgment is always something to be followed," she agreed. Then she blinked rapidly. "But James Hall is your father? Though I must wonder at how it could be. From what I have observed of his countenance, you two are quite the opposite." Her eyes suddenly grew quite wide. "But your nose," she said, and absently poked the aforementioned appendage. "You have the exact same nose. Oh, I shudder to think that this is not the only similarity." She shuddered for emphasis, and he held her close.

Just then, the door to the east drawing room opened, and the two teenagers quickly pulled away from one another. Out stepped Rose's parents and James Hall, who would never earn the title of _father_ from Ichabod. But the man looked at him differently than he had the previous day, with a strange sort of sparkle in his enchanting eyes. A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips as he said, "Oh, good morning, young Ichabod Crane."

"Good morning, Mister Hall," Ichabod said evenly, attempting to hide all signs of his forbidden knowledge.

Then James turned his attention to Rose, and his smile changed drastically. There was something artificial and sincere about it all at once, and Ichabod found it rather disturbing. "Tell me, Rose," James said, "why is it that I only ever seem to see you just as I take my leave?" He kissed her hand, but his lips lingered for a scandalous moment.

"I'm sure I don't know, sir," she said, pulling her hand away. "Perhaps it is because you fancy yourself a morning person, and I am a creature much more of the afternoon persuasion."

"Well then, that must be the reason," he said. He suddenly took her in his arms and whispered, just loud enough for the rest of them to hear, "Just think, when you are my wife, you shall not have to rise until noon if you wish it." He held her for a moment, then released her just as suddenly as he had taken hold of her. He turned a large smile on everyone and tipped his tricorn, saying, "I bid all of you a good day." And he left without another word.

As soon as he was assuredly out the door, Rose turned to her parents and said, "I'm going for a stroll with Ichabod." And that completely settled the matter.

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	9. Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: I own everybody but Ichabod.

Once Upon A Time  
Chapter Eight

"It has been brought to my attention of late that my own parents do not seem inclined to speak when I am in the presence of Mister Hall," Rose observed. "They leave me completely on my own to grope blindly for witty remarks that will keep him interested, though it is hardly his interest for which I am searching. I do not enjoy his company and I do not wish to marry him; it would upset me greatly if that were to be my fate."

"I am afraid, my darling," Ichabod said, patting her hand gently as they walked along, boots crunching into the snow, "that you have very little choice in the matter. I am afraid, as well, that you will be wed to that man, but you must be strong and overcome the great and terrible depression that you are sure to face." They walked in silence for a moment before he said, "Of course, I cannot presume to know how crushing it must be to know that your fate has been decided for you, that you have no choice in your own destiny. It is not a comforting thought."

"Yes," she agreed. "And sometimes I think that life as a man would be so much easier. But then I think that I would not want it. If given a choice between male and female, I would choose to remain a woman. There are countless hardships for my gender, it is true, but I believe I would rather wear the dresses and play the games which I am made to play. It is fascinating and repulsive all at once, and yet I would live my life no other way."

He smiled at that moment and stopped walking. She stopped as well, staring up at him in askance. But his smile remained. "What has made us so philosophical and reflective?" he asked.

But she did not smile in reply. "I believe it is our dread," she said candidly. "We are both dreading the actions of forces that are beyond our control, and it has caused us to think again on things that we had previously neglected, or to discuss for the first time things that we have newly noticed. It is good and bad in its way, and I have only one thing to say for it."

"And what is that?" he asked, and they started walking once more.

"We must treasure the happy times while we can," she said, her stride becoming more determined, "for I fear that they shall very shortly be gone."

* * *

Time passed, and Rose became increasingly busy as her possible marriage arrangements grew deeper and darker. She was made to spend more time with James and less with Ichabod, because it was "improper for a girl with a pending promise to another man to spend so much time in the company of such a bachelor as Ichabod Crane," as her parents said. It depressed her and enraged Ichabod; their families had been friends all these years, so what right had they to take Rose away from him? 

He knew, of course, that they had every right; she was their daughter and they were only trying to do their best for her by selecting the wealthiest and most willing husband. A part of him wished that he could tell them that it would be best for Rose to marry him, but he did not have half so many things that James had. He had Lord Crane's inheritance...when the old man decided to die. But until Daniel Crane departed his current plane of existence, Ichabod had nothing that would be worth anything in the eyes of Rose's parents.

But then James Hall went away to see his family in England for a few months as winter approached, so Ichabod and Rose were left alone from mid-December until early March. And on the first day of their freedom, Ichabod sat at his bureau near the window in the library, scanning the pages of some book distractedly. It was far from a lively piece of writing, but it was something to do until an opportunity for real entertainment and enjoyment presented itself.

And then there was a loud thump against his window.

He was woken quite abruptly from his near comatose state as something collided with his window. His book dropped to the floor with a slap that rang throughout the entire room, and he nearly fell backwards as he jumped out of his chair. After taking a moment to regain what little was left of his composure, he walked calmly to the window and opened it, looking about to catch the perpetrator. But he saw no one. "Hello?" he called out into the snowy expanse that lay before him.

There was a moment of nothing, and then a great bout of laughter rang out from behind a nearby tree. A figure came stumbling out into the open and doubled over in hilarity. It held up a hand after a time to stop him shutting the window, and then lifted its head and stood. It rushed forward, and as it got closer, he was able to identify who it was. "Rose!" he called, smiling widely.

"Good morning, Ichabod!" she yelled from her spot on the ground.

"What on earth are you doing here?" he asked.

"I've come to see you, of course," she replied.

"Obviously," he said, grinning like a fool at her. "But what of James? Should he not have whisked you away for an afternoon of shopping by now?"

"James has gone to England!" she announced gleefully, and spun about once in a dance of victory.

He said nothing for a moment; merely stared at her in shock. Then: "You can't be serious."

"I'm quite serious!" she told him. "He's gone home to England to spend Christmas with his family, and he won't return until March! It's wonderful!" Then she smiled up at him and said, "So let's not waste this beautiful winter day standing about with our mouths hanging open in shock. I want you to come down here and help me build a snowman."

* * *

After the aforementioned snowman had been built, destroyed, and rebuilt, Ichabod and Rose returned to the Hughes home and collected O'Kelley, a big brown Clydesdale perfect for towing the sleigh Rose's family owned. The two of them hooked him up to the sleigh and rode off, determined to stay outside until their toes froze. 

They rode at a comfortable pace through the surrounding woodland area, breathing in the icy winter air and laughing at their good fortune. But it reminded them both of what Rose had said not so very long ago, that these good times would not last. Things were changing too dramatically, and they knew that nothing could ever go back to the way it once was. It made Ichabod unhappy on occasion, but deep down he knew he didn't regret any choices he had made in the past month or so, nor did he regret anything he had said. He also found that he was no longer angry at Rose's parents for trying to find her a husband. It would only do him harm in the end, but he did not blame them. In time, he learned to appreciate and treasure his moments of privacy with his beloved even more than he previously had.

And that is precisely what he did on their winter ride.

They stopped in a fairly deserted area of the forest, where there were very few animals and sounds to disturb them. It was nothing but a peaceful quiet, and it allowed them to hold one another and lean back into the sleigh as they stared up at the undersides of leaves. Neither one of them spoke for a very long time, and then Rose asked, "Ichabod, what do you think shall become of us?"

He said nothing for a moment, then sighed. "I am afraid I cannot possibly guess, Rose," he told her.

"I do not want us to drift apart," she said, clutching his hand tighter. "No matter what happens in our future, will you promise me that we shall remain lovers always?"

"That shall become quite complicated if you are wed to James Hall," he pointed out.

She nuzzled into him. "Yes, but we shall make it work."

He sighed again. "Unfortunately, I am not so sure of that," he said quietly.

She pulled away and stared at him curiously. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Rose," he said, sitting up, "you know of the seemingly blind faith I put in Bertha, but she has told me things on more than one occasion that I would have liked to ignore due to the current situation. But I see that I can no longer do so." He sucked in a deep breath, preparing himself for his next words. "Bertha has told me that a daughter will result from our love," he said at last.

She was silent for quite a while; merely staring vacantly at nothing. He uttered her name once or twice, but she gave no response. Then, completely out of the blue, she said, "A daughter?"

"Yes, a daughter," he told her.

All of a sudden, she began to laugh and cry simultaneously, as though she did not know which emotion it was right to feel. She stared up at the sky, and then at Ichabod. She sniffed once and said, "We shall have a daughter of our very own. I can hardly believe it." She sniffed again, and dabbed at her eyes with a dainty, gloved hand. "Did Bertha say anything about when we would make the child?"

"She only mentioned a full moon," he said, "but nothing about an exact date."

"If that is the case," she said, "then I suppose we shall have to wait until we feel that the time is right." She nuzzled into him again and sighed contentedly. "Oh, Ichabod, our very own daughter," she murmured.

"Yes," he said quietly, stroking her hair. "Our very own daughter." And with that thought in mind, he closed his eyes and drifted into a contented sort of half sleep.

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	10. Chapter Nine

Disclaimer: I own everybody but Ichabod.

Once Upon A Time  
Chapter Nine

"What a marvelous thing life is."

Ichabod stared up at Rose from behind his teacup. She did not look into the fire, but out the window, staring at the snowy trees and frosted earth. Her hand had strayed absently to her neck, where she gently fingered the blue topaz that reflected the wildly dancing flames. Her breath had slowed, so that her bosom rose and fell in an almost sleepy rhythm.

"Would you care to elaborate, my dear?" he asked, replacing the cup carefully on its saucer.

She gave a small smile at this. "It is only that fate seems so determined to push us apart, and we are so determined to stay together," she said. "It is amazing how those unseen forces are so very adamant about getting their way. Sometimes it seems as though they will stop at nothing to get us to bend to their will."

"Unseen forces?" he repeated, setting the saucer aside and making a thoughtful steeple of his fingers. He rested his chin atop his hands a moment before asking, "You do not mean God, I hope?"

"No," she said, turning her face back to the fire. "No, not God; but surely something more profound, much greater than God could ever hope to be."

"You speak such blasphemy," he said, smiling. "It is one of the many reasons I love you."

She flashed him a smile for a fraction of an instant. "Yes, well, I do not believe in a definite, infallible God; I know too much to believe that. But I do believe that there is some greater force at work in our lives, some higher power that we cannot see. I would not call it God; I do not know what I would call it. But it is there, whatever it is, and whatever it shall be named. And it is determined to tear us apart."

"Then I am afraid I cannot look upon it kindly," he said.

"Nor can I," she agreed, finally turning her head to look at him. "In fact, I am quite angry with it for its numerous attempts at our love's demise." She was silent for a moment, as if searching for the words she wished to say. "But that does not stop me believing in it." They were silent again when, after a period of five or so minutes, Rose suddenly stood and said, "I feel that I must go home now. I do not know why, but I feel that I belong there at this moment." She leaned down and kissed him tenderly on the lips, with her mouth slightly open, and whispered to him, "I love you."

And then she was gone.

* * *

It turned out that Rose's intuition was correct; she _was_ needed at home. One of her mother's friends, a Mrs. Staub, had shown up at Rose's home, frantic. While in the market place, she'd heard some of the fishmonger's wives gossiping about a shipwreck a few days ago. Some of the employees at the local inn had rescued a few of the goods and people that had drifted ashore. 

So, being a kind, caring neighbor, Mrs. Staub had inquired after the condition of a man of Mr. Hall's description, thinking that perhaps he had been one of the few who was saved. The fishmonger's wives, though irritated that there had been someone listening in on their conversation, were persuaded to supply her with the information she so desperately wanted. "And then I rushed here as soon as I could!" she finished, still breathless. "My carriage is still just outside."

Rose had paled upon hearing this news; not because James was possibly hurt, but because this new development could drastically effect the time she had left to spend with Ichabod. In the next hurried moments, she attempted to dissuade her mother from rushing them both out of the door and into Mrs. Staub's carriage. But her efforts proved futile, as her mother said, almost immediately after Mrs. Staub finished speaking, "Well, then, we must go and see him this instant! Rose, put your cloak on, quickly."

"But, Mother," she began.

"Now, now, Rose, we must go and see your betrothed," her mother said, sparing her a glance that invited no questions.

But Rose hardly had the cognitive capacity at the moment to ask questions. A sickening realization hit her, like a good kick in the stomach. She felt instantly ill, and feared she would lose the luncheon she had so recently devoured. Instead of saying or doing anything, she just managed to squeak out, "Betrothed?"

"Yes, you silly child," her mother said, almost scoldingly. "Now put your cloak on." Still Rose could not move. "Oh, for Heaven's sake," her mother said after a moment. She grabbed her daughter's cloak from where she had carelessly strewn it over the sofa mere minutes before, draping around the girl's broad shoulders. "I'm so sorry, Patricia," said Rose's mother to Mrs. Staub. "I've no idea what's gotten into the girl."

"Well," said Mrs. Staub, as Rose's mother began to fasten the girl's cloak, "I can imagine it must be quite a shock to learn that your future husband was nearly killed in a shipwreck."

"Future husband," Rose mumbled, and if her mother had taken the time to listen, she would have noticed the despondent lilt to her daughter's voice.

"Yes, my darling, your future husband." Mrs. Hughes sounded as though she were tired of explaining this to her daughter. "Well, you're all done up." She patted the cloak's clasps for emphasis and called out to her husband, who was in the drawing room smoking his pipe, "Richard, dear, Rose and I are running to the market for a brief errand. We should be back within an hour or two."

And without waiting for a reply from Richard Hughes, they were gone.

* * *

As the carriage bumped along down the frozen rode, Rose sat in a state of emotional numbness, leaning against the red velvet wall. She had known all along, of course. But she supposed that a part of her had wanted to continue to cling to the love she shared with Ichabod, to the impossible hope that they could actually be together in the end. Yet while her dreams crumbled before her very eyes, she couldn't help but be angry at herself. She was a smart girl, and she should have seen this coming from the very beginning. It was truly amazing what the mind could believe if the heart wished hard enough. 

"Rose?"

Rose blinked. Her mother's intrusive voice woke her from her dismal, angry thoughts. She lifted her eyebrows questioningly and said, "Yes, Mother?"

"Are you feeling all right, darling?" asked Mrs. Hughes.

"She does look a touch pale," Mrs. Staub remarked.

"Oh, just a little tired," said Rose. "Such shocking news, and so much sudden rushing about. It's quite exhausted me, I fear."

"Well, don't worry, dear," said her mother, reaching over and giving her a reassuring pat on the knee. "You'll have plenty of time to sit down once we get to the inn." Rose only smiled weakly in response.

They reached the inn mere moments later, and Rose stood uncomfortably by as her mother and Mrs. Staub dealt with the inn keeper. She swallowed nervously and smoothed down her bodice as grungy old men leered at her breasts and the serving women from the tavern glared daggers at her generally well-kept appearance. Finally the inn keeper led the three of them up the stairs and down the corridor, passing by a room from which a half-dressed harlot emerged, giggling like a little girl.

"What a fine establishment," said Rose's mother, more than a hint of scorn and sarcasm in her voice.

"Why, thank you, ma'am," the inn keeper replied, smiling a toothy smile and sounding as if he had received a genuine compliment. Then he stopped suddenly, nearly causing Mrs. Staub to collide with him, and opened a door that looked as though it would fall clean away from the wall the next time someone attempted to open it. "Here ya are, Misses," he said, collectively addressing the three women.

"Thank you, sir," said Rose, speaking before Mrs. Hughes even had the chance to open her mouth. "We can handle it from here." At least, she _hoped_ they could handle it.

* * *

OMG, more plot twist! I'm so evil, messing with you people like I am. The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	11. Chapter Ten

Disclaimer: I own everybody except Ichabod and his dad, but I'm not sure when Lord Crane will pop up again.

Once Upon A Time  
Chapter Ten

Upon catching the first glimpse of a James Hall who had narrowly avoided death, Rose felt a sick prick of hope surge through her body. James was battered and bruised, and still bleeding from a fairly large gash on his left arm. His hands, the hands he had passed on to Ichabod, were blue and black and purple, and even yellow near his right thumb. His lip was swollen and he had had a thin slice of flesh removed from his left cheek, which was still red and probably infected. He was a sorry sight, to be sure, but the hope he gave to Rose was almost enough to allow her to forgive him for the horrible fate he still had a chance to bestow upon her.

"Oh, Mister Hall," Rose's mother gasped. She looked as though she would speak again, but her voice failed her in the next moment.

James opened his eyes, and beneath all the bruises and the blood, he almost looked surprised. "Misses Hughes?" he asked, in a hoarse voice.

"Yes, Mister Hall," said Rose's mother, who seemed to have found her voice again. "And my good friend Misses Staub, and my dear daughter Rose."

"Rose?" He looked from Mrs. Hughes to her daughter, who seemed an angel to him. The only true beauty he had seen since he set out on his terrible voyage; he felt that her presence today was truly a sign from God that he was meant to live. He was meant to live for this beautiful creature who loved him enough to look upon him even when he was hideous and deformed. "Rose," he said again, but there was a warmth in his voice unlike anything his young fiance had ever heard before from him. There even appeared to be a small smile on his swollen lips.

Rose swallowed her nervousness in one big, silent gulp, and pulled a rickety wooden chair up to the bed. She sat down beside him and held his hands, running her slender fingers lightly across the bruises. Although she did not love him, nor could she ever, he did inspire a certain amount of compassion in this weak state of his, and so she did not mind embracing him. She even whispered reassuringly in his ear, "Yes, I am here, my darling."

"Oh, Rose," he said, and weakly stroked her silky midnight hair. "Rose, I thought of you all the while as I drifted out to sea. I knew that I would die an unhappy man if I never saw your face again, even if only once. It was either that or struggle to the shore so that I could have a proper burial, and you a proper place to mourn." He pushed her gently away then, to look her in the eye, and he gave another small smile. "But now you are here, when I had no means of telling you where I was. You have sought me out of your own accord, and you have come to me in my time of need, without any askance on my part. For this, I declare that you are truly an angel."

"That's...very sweet," she said. Although a smile was plastered to her face, inside she screamed. It appeared that Mr. Hall was far more devoted to her than she had originally assumed; it could pose problems in the future.

"So," he said, now speaking more to the entire room instead of only to Rose, "in light of recent events, I propose a change in the wedding date."

He looked as though he was going to say more, but Mrs. Hughes cut in. "I beg pardon, Mister Hall, but if you recall, we had not yet set an exact date. However, we were thinking of having the wedding in early spring, late March or early April."

"Oh, yes," he said after thinking for a moment. "In that case, let us set a date now." Mrs. Hughes only nodded her approval. "Let us be wed on the twenty-eighth of March. I should be restored to full health by then, and I should be turning one year older on that day."

"Oh, is the twenty-eighth of March your birthday?" asked Mrs. Staub.

"Indeed it is," he said, smiling. "Isn't that a splendid day for a wedding, my darling Rose?" he asked, looking to his young bride.

Rose flashed him as bright a smile as she could, and said, with false cheer, "Yes, a wonderful day indeed." But inside she wept.

* * *

The following day, when Rose next saw Ichabod, she said nothing at first, merely held his face in her hands for a long moment of silence. Then she pressed her lips against his with a fervor still relatively alien to her nature, and she even slipped her tongue inside his mouth. So when she finally pulled away, Ichabod looked more than a little dazed and confused, but pleasantly so. "Well," he said, after blinking a few times, "that was...unexpected." 

"Yes," she said, "just as unexpected as the news I have brought you."

For some reason, Ichabod's ears did not welcome these words. "I don't very much like the sound of that," he remarked.

"Well," she sighed, "you shouldn't." She took his hand and led him to the sofa, setting them both down gently. She began to stroke his hands and sighed again, biding time so that she wouldn't have to speak. But eventually she forced the words from her lips. "It seems, my dear, that Mister James Hall was in a bit of an...accident." He said nothing but raised his eyebrows, indicating that she should go on. "Apparently he was involved in a shipwreck, and he barely survived. But he survived nonetheless, and now we have a definite date set for the wedding."

He was silent for a moment, but then he grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and nearly shook her. "But Rose, we still have a chance. Mister Hall will be incapacitated for some time, I'm certain, and they can't except you to spend time with him when he's barely conscious." His hands moved to her face, and he stroked her cheek gently. "We still have time," he said, his voice softer. "We can still make this work."

"But Ichabod," she said, removing his hands, "that's just it; we may have time, but time is _all_ we have. We don't _actually_ have a chance of being together in the end; all we can do is steal kisses and tender touches and time. It all just feels so hopeless."

"But he could die," Ichabod said. "His wounds must be serious, or bad enough that he can hardly breathe. Chances are he won't live to wed you."

"Oh, he won't die," she said, standing up and walking to the window. She stared out of it, despondent, and said, "You should have heard him talking to me, feeding me some nonsense that my presence was a sign from God that he had to live and make me his wife. If he dies, he'll die when we're good and married, and then I'd have to wait years before I could marry you."

He stood and joined her, wrapping one arm around her waist and placing the other on her arm. He kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear, "Rose, I know that all odds seem against us, but things will work out. And if they won't do it for themselves, we'll just have to do it for them. I will not lose you to him."

She said nothing for a moment, as he gently rocked her in his arms, and then she spoke in a quiet voice. "He's your father."

"Unfortunately," he sighed. "It shouldn't be this way, that father and son fight for the love of one woman, but no one ever said that life would be simple."

"No," she agreed, "they most certainly didn't. And if they did...then God help them."

* * *

Mr. Hall washed up on shore on the twentieth of December, four days before the big Christmas Eve celebration that Rose's family was hosting. The Hughes household had been terribly busy of late, but now that James was not actively courting Rose, the young woman had more time to help out around the house. Mrs. Hughes had grown up in a large family that had had very little money left over at the end of the week to hire servants, so she knew how to do her fair shore of those mundane household tasks. 

So as Christmas Eve approached, Rose could most often find her mother in the kitchen with the cook, the former Mrs. O'Brien, whose husband had died when Rose was but three years of age. On the twenty-second, as Rose was passing the kitchen on her way to the front door, her mother called out to her, "Rose, dear, why don't you come in here and help me with the plum pudding."

Rose backtracked a few paces and looked in on her mother, who was busy chopping up some sort of something. Mrs. O'Brien was busy with some boiling water. "I would love to, Mother," she said, "but I was just on my way out."

"Out?" Abigail Hughes repeated, though she didn't look at her daughter. "Where could you be going?"

"Well, Father asked me to gather some mistletoe," Rose lied.

"I thought he was having Tom do that."

"He was," Rose admitted, "but you know what Tom will do if he gets his hands on some mistletoe."

Abigail smiled. "He'd kiss every pretty thing within a five mile radius, I know. Though I can't stay angry with him; he is such a handsome thing." Now Rose smiled. "All right, go on, then. But be home before dark."

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	12. Chapter Eleven

Disclaimer: I own everybody but Ichabod at the moment.

Once Upon A Time  
Chapter Eleven

Rose arrived in the Crane's library roughly a quarter of an hour later, her cheeks red from the cold and her breath heavy with the running about she'd just done. Ichabod looked up from his book, lifting an eyebrow curiously. But when he saw who it was in the doorway, he set aside his book and smiled up at her. "Good morning, Rose," he said, rising from his sitting position.

"Good morning, Ichabod," she said breathlessly. She leaned against the wall, her breasts madly rising and falling as she huffed and puffed and tried desperately not to faint. But soon enough her knees began to buckle, and he was at her side in an instant, holding her against him so that she didn't collapse.

"Why don't we sit you down?" he suggested, already helping her over to the velvet-upholstered sofa.

"Yes, splendid idea," she agreed weakly, and the two of them plopped themselves down on the aforementioned sofa. She leaned heavily against him, clutching at his overcoat and staring into the fire. He unclasped the clasp at her neck, and it fell away, sliding silkily onto the floor. He pushed her hair behind her ear and felt her forehead, which was moist and warm with sweat.

"Rose, are you ill?" he asked, concern penetrating his outwardly calm manner.

"No," she assured him, "just a little faint. I ran all the way here from home, and I only stopped to grab this." She reached down and felt around for her cloak, then pulled two objects out of a pocket she had sewn in herself. She showed the first one to him; it was a small sprig of mistletoe. He smiled down at her and kissed her on the lips gently. "I also have this for you," she said, handing him the other object.

He took the piece of parchment from her, scanning it briefly before smiling. "I see Mister Hall's recent misfortune hasn't stopped your family from enjoying the holidays."

"I dare say that we can't afford to let it," she said. "We always have a celebration on Christmas Eve; it would cause a scandal if we didn't."

"I suppose," he agreed. "But don't you think your usual guests would forgive you if you didn't have one this year, in light of recent events?"

She sighed. "Oh, no doubt word of James' condition has gotten around by now. But my mother and father always said that it was important to make things look as normal as possible when in a crisis situation, so we're going to continue with our lives as usual until James recovers."

"Or dies," he added.

She gave another sigh, but this was more one of almost aggravated affection than despair. "Or until he dies," she agreed. "But I _still_ think that's a highly unlikely situation."

"Whatever you say, darling," he half-laughed, smiling.

They sat in silence for a moment before a thought suddenly struck her. "Oh, will your father be in attendance, I wonder?"

"Do you mean my true father or Lord Crane?" Ichabod asked.

"Oh, yes," Rose said awkwardly. "My apologies. Lord Crane is who I mean."

"I do not know," he replied. "I shall have to ask him."

* * *

And the next day, that is just what Ichabod did. He approached his father early in the morning, when Lord Crane had barely had the chance to become intoxicated. He was in his study yet again, this time searching almost frantically through the drawers of various cabinets. There were books that had fallen open onto the floor, and the room looked in general chaos. Ichabod furrowed his brow in confusion and asked, only half in jest, "What have you done this time?" 

Lord Crane looked to the boy, and for the first time in all his life, Ichabod saw fear in the man's eyes. "Oh, it's only you," he said.

It wasn't quite the warm reception Ichabod had been half-heartedly hoping for, but he shrugged it off and asked, "Is this a bad time? I can come back later."

"No, no," said Lord Crane, "stay. Was there something you wanted to ask me?"

"Not so much ask as to inform you," Ichabod said, stepping over some financial ledgers that looked decidedly grim. He took Rose's invitation from his waistcoat pocket and held it out to the man before him. "Rose Hughes has invited us both to her family's Christmas Eve celebration. She wished to ask if you would be in attendance."

"When is it?" Lord Crane asked.

Ichabod stared at him incredulously. "On Christmas Eve, naturally," he said.

"No, I mean when on Christmas Eve is it being held?" Lord Crane explained.

"From six in the evening until midnight," Ichabod told him.

"Will we be required to bring gifts?"

"No, but I plan on bringing a little something for Rose."

"Oh, no you won't," Lord Crane said suddenly. "If you intend to give her something, you are going to make it yourself."

"Why?" Ichabod asked. "Haven't we the funds to afford nice things anymore?"

This seemed to be the thing that made Lord Crane speak candidly with Ichabod for the first time in the boy's young life. "Listen," said the man, "we've been involved in some bad business since your mother's death, and I have very little hope anymore that we're ever going to recover from this financial instability. Is that a good enough explanation for you?" This last sentence seemed to be spoken with a mite of irritation.

Ichabod was momentarily speechless. "I'm so sorry, sir," he said. "If I had known..." He finished his sentence with silence, unable to think of a proper ending.

"Yes, well, now you do," Lord Crane said. "And I suggest you start thinking of ways to lessen our expenses."

"Of course, sir," Ichabod said, understanding why Lord Crane had been in such an especially foul mood of late. "But you never answered my question."

"And what question was that?"

"If you would be attending the Hughes' Christmas Eve celebration."

Lord Crane seemed to consider it a moment, looking around the messy room and then at the boy who stood practically in the middle of it all. And finally he said, "I may stop by for an hour or two to mill and partake of food and drink, but I simply cannot spare the time. Send the Hughes' my most sincere apologies."

"I will, sir," Ichabod said, backing out of the room silently.

* * *

Lord Crane's candor with the young lad had Ichabod concerned about his financial future. He supposed that a part of him had always known that Lord Crane would ruin their wealth, but he couldn't help thinking that some higher power truly _was_ working against him. That is why he went to Bertha. 

This time, the woman at the door made no remark; she barely spared him a second glance. He walked through the large house until he came to Bertha's room, and before he even had the chance to knock, he was admitted. He gave a small roll of his eyes and turned the doorknob, stepping inside.

Bertha smiled up at him, a crooked little smile that truly made her look like an old woman. "Young Ichabod," she asked, "what is it that troubles you now?"

"I thought you would have known that the instant you heard my footsteps," he said, slightly agitated.

She nodded and said, "I see there is something grave on your mind."

"Grave indeed," he told her. "Bertha, I'm...I'm worried about my financial stability. It seems that Lord Crane has not been so smart with my mother's money as he could have been, and now I fear that I will have nothing with which to support myself when the time comes."

"Yes, Lord Crane has gotten your family into some trouble, but that began long before your mother's death," she said, "contradictory to what he told you."

"Typical," he scoffed under his breath.

"And yes, there will be financial problems in your future," she continued, "problems that will force you to leave this place within a year."

Ichabod paled, if such a thing were possible for a person of his already fair complexion. "Leave Hartford?" he said. "I couldn't do that. I've grown up here, and my mother's family has lived here for generations. It would be disrespectful to go anywhere else."

"Your daughter will know her ancestral home," Bertha said, and her unseeing eyes closed. "But she will not know it the way you would like her to."

His face brightened, and then it fell. "What do you mean?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I cannot tell you that."

"You _can't_? Or you _won't_?"

She opened her eyes and glared at him, though she could not have possibly seen him. "Don't take that tone with me, young man. You speak of respect and disrespect, but where is your respect for your elders?"

He cast his eyes to the ground. "I beg pardon," he said meekly.

"Apology accepted," she said, and closed her eyes again. "As a matter of fact, I _can't_ tell you yet. I know that your daughter will grow up in your ancestral home, but I also know that she will not grow up with you."

This crushed him, and he looked up in disbelief. "I shall not know my daughter?"

"Not as a young girl, not as she is growing up," Bertha said. "You will know her when she is wed, when she is the wife of a man named...Charles."

"Charles?" he asked. "Charles who?"

"The father of your grandson," she said, and leaned her head back against the pillows.

His eyes went wide. "Grandson?" But she made no response, and it took him a moment to realize that she had stopped breathing. "Oh, dear," he said quietly, as he took it upon himself to fold her arms over her chest in the common burial position. He stepped back and looked at her, an old woman who had died happy, with a small smile on her face. "Good-bye, Bertha," he said. "And thank you."

He went back down the stairs and found his way into the kitchen. There he told one of the servants, "I believe your mistress is dead."

* * *

Woah, more plot twist! And I would have posted this sooner, but I was fucking around with my image editing program and kind of lost track of time. The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	13. Chapter Twelve

Disclaimer: Me no own Ichy-poo. lol

Once Upon A Time  
Chapter Twelve

The day before the Hughes' Christmas Eve celebration, Rose stopped by to speak with Ichabod about Lord Crane's attendance. "He says he may be able to stop by for an hour or two," Ichabod said, "but he simply doesn't have the time. He gives you his humblest apologies."

Rose almost laughed. "There's hardly a humble bone in that man's body," she said.

"True," Ichabod agreed, closing the library door behind her. "But I must say that I saw fear in his eyes just last night."

"Fear?" she asked, looking genuinely stunned. "But Lord Crane fears nothing."

"He fears _debt_," Ichabod corrected her. And then he sighed. "As do I, I'm afraid."

"What do you mean?" She took a seat on the sofa, waiting for an answer until he sat down next to her.

"It seems that my family is in a bit of financial trouble, my darling," he said. "Apparently Lord Crane has frittered away my mother's sizable fortune, leaving us in a great deal of debt. I happened to see the financial ledgers as I was asking him about the Christmas celebration, and they looked...grim, to say the least."

"Oh, no," she said, taking his hands in hers. "You don't think...you don't think you'll lose your home, do you?"

He shook his head and sighed again. "I can't say," he admitted. "I spoke to Bertha earlier this morning, as I was concerned with what this would mean for my future, and she informed me that I would be forced to sell my home within a year."

She gasped. "Oh, how terrible!"

"But I do have some good news," he said, smiling slightly. "It seems that our daughter will grow up in this house." His smile faded. "And then I have more bad news; although our daughter will grow up here, I will not know her in her youth, as a young girl."

"Oh, Ichabod, no," she said, squeezing his hands tightly. There seemed to be tears in her eyes already.

"It is what Bertha said, and Bertha has been correct about everything thus far," he said. "I fear it would be a grave mistake not to listen when she speaks."

"But it can't be," Rose said, a tear slipping down her cheek. "You must know your daughter, you must watch her grow into a woman. You must find her a husband and watch them have children of their own. You must see your grandchildren."

This reminded him of something else the old woman had said. "We will have a grandchild," he told Rose. "A boy, a grandson of our very own. And his father's name will be Charles."

Rose's tears seemed to cease as she considered this possibility. "I do like the name Charles," she said finally. "It is a good English name. What will our grandson be called?"

Ichabod shook his head. "Bertha did not tell me," he said. "Or rather, she did not have time. For you see, Rose...Bertha is...dead."

Rose gasped. "Oh, my." Her hand flew out of his and covered her mouth in shock. They were both silent for a moment, and then she said, "Well, I suppose we'll just have to figure out our future for ourselves, then."

"I suppose so," he agreed. And then he embraced her. "But fear not. We'll work things out, I just know we will."

* * *

When Rose left for her own home, Ichabod began to puzzle over a suitable gift for his beloved. With Lord Crane's sensibly-enforced rule about lessening their expenses, another problem presented itself. And while Ichabod knew that Rose would be happy even if she had no gift at all, he felt that she deserved something for all that she had been put through. 

The question that now remained was what could he give her with the modest budget he had? He thought of buying her another book of poetry, and while she undoubtedly wouldn't mind, he would feel it redundant. He thought of buying her another piece of jewelry, but he knew that Lord Crane would never allow it. And he could hardly make something himself, for what could he make with his hands that he would think good enough to give to Rose?

And then he knew. It hit him like a ton of bricks, and he was amazed at and ashamed of himself for not thinking of it sooner. With his idea firmly in his mind, his only hope now was that his father had not pawned it off to raise money.

* * *

So while Ichabod set off to find something special for the love of his life, Rose set off in a carriage to go see the man who was _supposed_ to be the love of her life. Since her last visit to James Hall, she had begun work on embroidering one of the finest pillows her mother could find. It was meant to be a Christmas gift for James, but Rose knew her heart had not been in it. But how could it be? She did not love James, did not want to marry him, wanted as little to do with him as possible. But her mother had insisted that she make something nice for the man, as he had been through so much. 

Rose and her mother, this time without the company of Mrs. Staub, went once more to the inn to which James was confined. They were led once more up the rickety stairs, and they went once more into the dingy and depressing room, where they once more found James hovering between sleep and wakefulness. "Mister Hall," Rose whispered quietly.

Mr. Hall woke almost immediately upon hearing Rose's voice, as if he had been waiting for her presence. He opened his eyes slowly and looked up at his wife-to-be, smiling despite the pain it caused him to smile. "Rose," he said softly. His voice was still hoarse, but not as hoarse as it had been some days ago. "Merry Christmas, my darling."

"Well, it's not quite Christmas yet," said Mrs. Hughes, "but Rose has brought you something, since you cannot attend our annual Christmas Eve celebration. Give him your gift, dear," she said to her daughter.

Rose pulled the pillow out of her cloak. It was a fine white thing embroidered in green and red, the colors of the season. She had crafted it to look like red ribbons and boughs of holly along the sides, with a great wreath in the very middle of the top. At the bottom, she had painstakingly stitched the words "Merry Christmas, My Love" in red. She had considered, however briefly, giving it to Ichabod, but she knew that her mother would ask awkward questions about its sudden disappearance. So she handed the pillow to James and said, "Merry Christmas, James."

He reached up and feebly accepted the gift, holding it in front of him and smiling. He then looked to Rose and said, with a light in his eyes the likes of which she had never before seen, "I love you, Rose." He reached out and took her hand, stroking it gently and affectionately. "Which is why," he continued, before she was even aware of what had exactly just happened, "I also have a gift for you."

James set the pillow aside and opened the top drawer of the nightstand resting next to his bed. He pulled a small, velvet-covered box out of the drawer and slowly opened it. He presented the open thing to Rose with a smile on his face, and his smile only widened with her gasp. "Merry Christmas, love," he said.

Rose could not have been in a more awkward situation. Inside the small velvet box was, as she'd feared, a truly spectacular ring. It was just a small, crystalline stone on a plain golden band, but its simplicity made it all the more beautiful. She took it out herself and slipped it on her own finger, to save him the trouble. Then she said, "Oh, James, it's lovely. Thank you. But I...I don't know what to say."

"Say that you'll be my wife," he begged her, taking her hand again. "I know your parents and I have already agreed that I should court you, but I'm asking you now, because I love you... Will you do me the immense honor of becoming Misses James Hall?"

* * *

OMG, cliff hanger! I know it's not much of a cliff hanger, and I know that most of you don't give a shit what happens to old Jimmy boy, but I have to admit that I'm trying to stretch this story out a bit. The original manuscript, as it were, isn't very long, so I'm sort of adding things in as I go. Forgive me if it makes for crap reading, but I really want to finish this so I can get to the sequel, for which I have a lot of plans. So bear with me, because I really am doing my best. The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Disclaimer: I own the people that I made up, but everybody else belongs to other people who aren't me.

Once Upon A Time  
Chapter Thirteen

So as Rose was made to suffer James' affections, Ichabod was made to suffer searching through the room that had been his mother's. Hardly anyone went in the late Lady Crane's room anymore, and Ichabod was one of the three people who had a key. The other two were Lord Crane and the head housemaid, Juliette. But Juliette never went into the room to clean, and Ichabod had not seen Lord Crane go down the corridor leading to it in years.

Now he took his key from its hiding place in the secret drawer of his personal bureau and dared to explore the dank, dusty room. For indeed it was dusty, and the curtains were closed to shut out any and all light. He stumbled blindly through the clutter of things on the floor, coughing as he went, and pulled back one of the heavy velvet curtains. Beneath its perpetual layer of dust, the curtain was actually a fine crimson color, but Ichabod only knew this because his memory told him it was so. Had this been his first sighting of the curtains, he would not have known they were anything but gray

The curtain allowed a weak ray of winter sunlight to fall upon the bed, the ancient bed that creaked and squeaked violently if one were to just touch the bedposts lightly. The bed was gray, but he knew that beneath the dirt and grime and time was a lush field of emerald velvet. His mother had loved velvet, especially crushed velvet. Her finest gowns had been made of crushed velvet, mostly midnight blue crushed velvet. Her room was filled with it, from the curtains to the chairs to the rugs on the floor.

He wiped away the dust with one swift motion of his right hand, revealing the dark green beneath. The first bed he'd ever slept in had been this bed; he had been too small at birth, and his mother had been afraid to leave him alone in the cradle. He had slept beside her, sometimes curled up on her stomach, with his small head against her bosom. Now he looked up, and saw the old cradle in which he had first slept when he had lived but a single year of his life.

It was the cradle that had housed, for only a few months, his younger sister. Her name had been Susan, and he had known, from the first moment he had seen her, that she would grow into a carbon copy of their mother. But his hopes and dreams for her were shattered on a terrible morning when he had been woken by his mother's scream.

He recalled rushing out of his bedroom in his nightclothes and dashing through the corridors until he reached his mother's room. There he'd found the strong woman he so loved and admired in pieces on the bed, sobbing her heart out. He'd walked to the cradle and spotted his sister, whose dark little eyes were closed and whose little chest did not rise or fall. Her body was cold and she wasn't moving, and it was then that the five-year-old Ichabod Crane had broken down like his mother. He had fallen onto the floor, just there on that now-frayed rug, and held himself as he wept and rocked back and forth.

After Susan's death, Lord and Lady Crane had never again tried to conceive a child.

Now Ichabod grimaced and tried to blink away the tears that came anew to his eyes. He imagined his skinny little toddler self in a heap on the floor, and his mother strewn carelessly across the bed like one of Susan's would-be discarded dolls. He recalled the cries of anguish and depression that rang out even in Rose's home, the cries that had sent Lord Crane running away from his wife and his alleged son.

And then it occurred to Ichabod at that moment that Susan may not have been Lord Crane's daughter after all. If his mother had been attracted enough to James Hall to bear his child once, what could stop her from doing it again? He realized, as well, at that precise moment, that his entire world was falling apart in front of his eyes. He collapsed on his mother's bed, the bed in which he had been born, and thought of all the things that were going wrong.

His financial future was ruined, he couldn't be with Rose because his own father was stealing her away, and everything he had believed for the better part of seventeen years could easily have been a lie. He made a noise of anguish in the back of his throat and held his hands to his head, tempted to pull out a few good clumps of hair simply because he didn't know what else to do. "Damn it all," he said finally, and the bed creaked as if admonishing him for this rare use of profanity.

He sighed and spread his arms out on the bed, gently fingering the blanket beneath the thick layers of dust. He held his breath and tried not to cough, but it proved a more difficult challenge than he had anticipated. Finally he stood and began to search through the drawers of his mother's vanity table, pulling open things that had not been touched for nearly a decade.

There were pearls, emeralds, rubies, sapphires, amethysts. There were small books and scraps of parchment upon which were written messages in a strange language he could not understand. There were stubby candles and spots of dried wax. There were blood stains and dried blood spots that had all but faded over the years, and he wondered what she had been doing at night when she locked the door. There was a knife with a layer of dried blood that was thick as the dust that covered everything else. He dropped it in disgust and kept searching, determined to keep the image of his mother slitting her wrists out of his mind.

And then he found it. It was hidden in the back of a drawer, wrapped in a yellowed piece of parchment upon which there was something scribbled. He unfolded the parchment and read it, as it was addressed to him:

_My dearest Ichabod,_

_I know that you'll be able to tell when the time is right, so I'll leave this for you to find in the only place that everyone else won't think to look. I want you to use it wisely and give it to your true love, but only when you feel comfortable promising her your heart. And don't worry about refusal; I know who she is, and I know she won't be able to resist you. And Ichabod, whatever happens when I am dead, I want you to know that things will be all right in the end, but not always in the way you expect. I will love you forever._

_Signed sincerely,_

_your loving, adoring mother._

He looked at the ring, at the onyx stone that could seem so foreboding, but he knew that his mother had endowed it with some special magic before her death. He had never doubted her ability to work miracles, to know exactly what was going to happen days, even months and years, before it happened. It was such a natural part of her, in fact, that he'd hardly noticed it while she was alive. Now that she was dead, however, he knew there was something special about her. And he knew that even in death, she would try and make things as easy for him as she could in this rough and tough world. She was his guardian angel, watching over him even when he was too busy with everyone else's lives to watch over himself.

It gave him faith that, as she'd written, things would work out in the end. But one of her last comments intrigued him, and made him think that there was still much in store for himself and Rose. But for the time being, he was content to stuff the ring and the note into his waistcoat pocket and leave the room. He had time to puzzle over the meanings of her message later.

* * *

With his gift tucked securely in his pocket, Ichabod donned the crimson suit he'd worn to Rose's birthday celebration and made the short trek to the Hughes' home in the gentle snowfall. In the less than ten minutes it took him to reach her house, three carriages passed him, and it occurred to him then that her family's social circle must have been far more extensive than he had realized. 

He arrived within less than a quarter of an hour, and was greeted politely at the door by one of the servant women he knew to be called Chelsea. He nodded respectfully at her as she bowed to him and gracefully waved him on to the large dining hall.

The dining hall was large enough to hold roughly around fifty people, but because of the surplus of guests, people were spilling over into the various sitting rooms and loitering in the corridors. But none had yet retired to the library, which worked well for Ichabod. It was his intention to find Rose and steal her away to the library before dinner, and to give her his mother's ring as a symbol of his everlasting love. Then they would sit down to eat and after that there would be dancing. He planned to return home at half past midnight, thoroughly exhausted and perhaps a tad tipsy.

Odd how plans can be so easily disrupted and changed.

* * *

I know it's a short one, but as I've already explained, I really am trying to stretch this out much. I guess I wouldn't be so desperate to finish it if I didn't really want to write the sequel. But I promise I'll try my best to make it as long as I can, though I can't guarantee a whole lot more. And OMG, the computer is working again! Yay! The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Disclaimer: I own...everyone! Well, that's a lie, but I wish I did. Anyway, you people should well enough by now who I own and who I don't. And if you don't know, read all the chapters preceding this one.

Once Upon A Time  
Chapter Fourteen

It seems that's while Ichabod had been searching for Rose, Rose had been searching for him. In fact, the two of them more than likely passed each other in the corridor, perhaps while Ichabod was bowing to Chelsea and Rose was walking the other way. Be that as it may, they finally met up on the stairs, as Rose was coming down and Ichabod was going up. When she spotted him, she gasped and cried, "Ichabod!"

The young lad turned at the loud outcry of his name, and the sight that greeted him was nothing short of spectacular. Standing before him, on the landing leading to the second floor, was Rose, dressed in her best. She, like Ichabod, wore crimson, but it looked far better on her than it did on him. The dress was sleeveless, meaning the sleeves did not rest on the shoulders, but lower, high up on her upper arms. It was trimmed in places with a golden fringe, and she wore a wreath of holly leaves atop her head. Her raven hair had been secured with a length of red ribbon, and curled so that it fell about her face in dark, springy ringlets. She was the epitome of beauty.

And she was rushing into his arms.

He barely had a chance to close his mouth (which had fallen open in surprise) before she launched herself at him, trapping him in a warm embrace. He weakly wrapped his arms around her, uncaring that people in the corridor were already starting to stare and whisper. He felt that tonight would be different, that it would change things, and so he wanted to make each and every moment count, regardless of anyone else who might gossip about their intimacy. "Good evening, Rose," he whispered, still mildly breathless.

She pulled away and got a good look at him, her eyes traveling up and down his body, and then she looked up and smiled. "You look so handsome," she told him.

"And you are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he replied, and she giggled girlishly. "Which reminds me," he continued, "there is something I wish to give you. Could we sneak away to the library?"

"Of course," she said, and glanced around only briefly before taking his hand and leading him swiftly away. They bypassed all manner of guest on their way to the library, but found the library itself comfortably deserted. But just to be safe, she shut the doors behind them. Once that was done, she turned around but continued to lean on the doors. "All right," she said, "what did you want to give me?"

He fumbled around in his pocket a moment, as if to be sure that the ring was still there. It was, and he fingered it nervously as he plucked up the courage to say what he needed to say. "Would you mind coming over to the sofa, please?" he asked her.

Looking almost concerned, she nodded and moved away from the door. On her way over to the sofa, it occurred to her that someone must have been in here recently, as the fire was still burning in the hearth. But this was of very little importance compared to what Ichabod had to say, for he certainly looked as if he had to say something.

Rose situated herself on the sofa, smoothing her skirts and folding her hands in her lap as she waited. Ichabod cleared his throat and lowered himself to one knee, and a wave of a few separate emotions washed over her. First came the joy, for there was no chance of not knowing what he was doing. And then came the horrible disappointment that she could feel in the pit of her stomach at knowing that she would have to explain the ring that already rested on her finger.

"Rose," he said, taking her hands gently in his, "we have been through so very much over the many years that we have known each other, and we've been through even more since he admitted our love to one another. And while I know that the demands of various people in your life, and I'm sure a few in mine, cannot allow us to be together at this time, I want you to know that I will always love you. And that is why I would like to give you this."

He pulled the ring out of his pocket, and she gasped. It was just as simple as what James had given her, if not simpler, but it meant so much more than the silly trinket that occupied her right ring finger. "It's an onyx," Ichabod continued. "I don't know of any magical properties it's supposed to have, but I know that it always meant something important to my mother. Therefore, it means something important to me, and I hope it will mean something important to our daughter."

He was about to slip the ring onto her finger when he stopped and stared down at the digit. This was the moment Rose had been fearing, the moment she'd been half expecting and wholly dreading since James had given her the blasted thing. "Rose," Ichabod said, "why is there already a ring on your finger?"

She sighed. "I can explain that, Ichabod," she said. "Yesterday, my mother and I went to see Mister Hall, just to wish him a merry Christmas and give him the pillow she had me embroider. But then he gave me this ring and said that he loved me and wanted me to marry him for love's sake. And of course I wanted to refuse him, but what could I have done? Mother was right there, practically breathing down my neck, and Mister Hall looked so terrible and pathetic. There was nothing I could do."

He nodded, though he looked thoroughly depressed. "I understand," he said.

"But I do not want to wear his ring," she went on. "Were it not for my blasted parents, I would have thrown it in a pond or given it to some poor street urchin who could have pawned it. I want your ring, Ichabod, not your father's. I love _you_, not him. I want to have your child," she said, softer this time, as if it was just their little secret. He looked up at her as she said this. "And I want to go make her right now."

Ichabod, though not very well-versed in taking a hint, understood this one immediately, and the two of them wasted only a moment before bolting out of the library and up the stairs.

* * *

Dressed, Rose was a sight to behold. Undressed, however, was a completely different story. Undressed, she was beyond magnificent. She was no longer the epitome of beauty, but a goddess. Her body was full of gentle curves and covered in skin as pale as porcelain, but as soft as silk. There were very few words to describe her, and those that were available seemed severely insufficient. So Ichabod was content just to stare. 

A nude Ichabod was not such a bad thing, either. He may have appeared scrawny with his clothes on, but beneath the waistcoat and the shirt and the breeches was a well-maintained body. His chest, though not exactly what one would call chiseled, was strong and nicely-defined. His arms had a fair amount of muscle, and his legs were long and powerful. All in all, the two made a beautiful couple.

And they would make a beautiful child.

Like any first sexual encounter, it started out in a mildly-embarrassing manner, with the usual awkward touching and stroking. It took them each a time to learn what felt good and what didn't, what was allowed and what wasn't, and what was neutral. They explored one another's bodies with their hands at first, gently tracing certain areas with fingers and massaging other areas with both hands. And then they used their lips, kissing shoulders, necks, nipples, anything they could reach.

And then the real fun began.

Once they were confident that each knew the other's body upside down and inside out, Rose lay on her back on the bed, with her hands folded across her stomach and her legs straight. Ichabod sat down beside her, stroking her leg gently. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" he asked her.

She thought about it a moment and finally said, "No, no I'm not sure. But this may be our only chance, and if it is, I don't want to miss it." She reached down and took his hand. "Ichabod, I love you, and I want to have your daughter, no matter what problems all of us may face in the future. And I'm quite ready for all of that." She let go of his hand and relaxed herself. "So hurry up," she said. "I'm freezing."

He smiled at her and leaned down, kissing her tenderly on the lips. He crawled fully onto the bed and seemed to tower over her, but she was not afraid. Neither one of them was afraid of what this might mean for their relationship or their future; they both felt that Rose was right, that this just may be their only chance. And so they took it. With all the passion and emotion that first ignited their forbidden love, they sought to bring it to a new plane, a better place. They sought to express it through the highest form of expression possible, and that expression came in the form of a child.

And that is how it happened, how their daughter began. And when it was all over, they clung to one another and breathed heavily against one another's faces. They shared only fleeting kisses because they hadn't the strength to share anything more.

But finally Ichabod mustered enough breath to say, "Rose, when our daughter is born, name her Adelaide."

"Oh, yes, Adelaide," she said. "What a splendid way to honor your mother."

He kissed the top of her head. "My thoughts exactly."

* * *

I don't really know the name of Ichabod's mother, as it's never specified in the film, but Adelaide sounded like a good historical name. And so I went with it. The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Disclaimer: I own everyone except Ichabod and Lord Crane, who I think might make an appearance in the chapter.

Once Upon A Time  
Chapter Fifteen

Their great triumph over parents and higher powers alike was finally secure, and once they dressed themselves, they went downstairs to join the dinner party. However, their paths parted when Rose's mother came rushing to her on the stairs, and Ichabod quickly turned around and walked in the opposite direction before his lover even knew he was gone.

They met up again at opposite ends of the dinner table, and Rose almost huffed at the irony. While her parents (her mother especially), made small talk with the people next to them, Rose stared down the table at Ichabod, who was nibbling his roast goose distractedly. He looked up after a moment and caught her eye, and what followed was an awkward exchange of raised brows and blinks. In the end, neither one really knew what the other was trying to say, or what they were trying to say themselves.

Consequently, dinner was rather uneventful, and dancing followed all too soon. The quartet struck up a lively waltz, perfect for warming everyone's body and soul on such a chilly winter night. Ichabod and Rose were able to dance together only once, as various gentlemen persisted in asking the young Miss Hughes for a dance. She could hardly refuse them, as it was her family's celebration, and refusing her various guests would have been inexcusably rude.

So she danced with the fine, able-bodied young men while Ichabod showed off his skill at charity by requesting a dance with some of the older women who had no one. This earned him quite a few invitations to various houses after the end of the celebration, but he politely refused, saying that he had plans. While this wasn't technically true, it wasn't technically a lie, either; he had mapped out his evening before he even arrived.

The dancing ended after a few good hours, when everyone returned to the dining room and found that a Christmas tree had magically appeared. Gifts of every shape and size sat underneath it, and many people recognized them as the presents they had entrusted to the servants when they had arrived. The Hughes had earned a reputation of having very good servants, and so few people had problems with having faith in Chelsea and the rest of her brood.

Some of the younger guests rushed to the tree immediately, but were made to sit on the sofas and in the chairs and on laps as the servants passed out the gifts. Everyone got something, even Ichabod, who received a pot of ink and a new quill from Rose. Rose, on the other hand, gleaned many gifts from the evening, mostly jewelry, but a few shawls and gloves thrown in for variety. Eventually, she ended up giving most of these away as payment to people in the market or passing them along to some of the children who lingered at the end of the evening.

After that, the children went away to the sitting room to play with their toys, and some of the men, Rose's father included, went off to the smoking room to puff on their pipes and drink some wine. The women departed the dining room and went off into the east drawing room, where the bolder enjoyed wine and the more timid confined themselves to tea. Ichabod joined them, as he had decided the smoking room would have an ill effect on his health, and partook of some of the wine.

He listened to them chatter on, as he hardly had anything interesting to contribute to the conversation, and stole swift glances at Rose every now and then. More often than not, their eyes met, but they quickly looked away, as to avoid being noticed. However, they were not so discreet as they had hoped with their glancing, and at nearly half past eleven, when Ichabod was more inebriated than he had hoped to be, one of the women said, "Would you excuse me for a moment, Abigail, dear? I would like to have a little chat with this lad." She stood up and took Ichabod by the arm.

The woman led him, stumbling, out of the east drawing room. She set her glass of wine aside and took his now empty glass out of his hand. She set it down beside hers and held him against the wall with one hand. She stood an arm's length away from him and looked him up and down, finally deciding that he was in no condition to go anywhere on his own, not even back into the dining room. "Do you have any idea how much wine you've had this evening, son?" she asked him.

Drunkenly, he raised a finger and almost wagged it at her. But he couldn't do it. "No idea," he replied.

"Then you know you've had too much," she said. "I'm going to call a carriage for you."

Just then, the door to the east drawing room opened, and Rose emerged. She saw Ichabod, who blinked slowly and burped. "Ichabod, how many glasses of wine have you had tonight?" she asked, almost sternly, taking no notice of the woman who was supporting him.

"He can't remember," the older woman answered. "Where does he live?"

"Only ten minutes away, surely," Rose told her. "Have you seen the large house down the road? The red brick house with the ivy growing all around the pillars on the porch?"

"Oh, yes, that house," the woman said, nodding. "Then you must be Ichabod Crane," the woman said. Ichabod nodded weakly. "I know your father," she continued. "He didn't teach you to drink like this, did he?" Ichabod shook his head slowly. "Nevertheless, you're in no shape to do anything on your own. I'll drop you off at your house when I leave for my own home."

"Thank you so much, Misses Poole," Rose said.

"Think nothing of it, dear," she said. "But a piece of friendly advice: Be sure to cover up that stomach when it begins to grow."

Rose's dark eyes went wide. "How...?" she said, weakly.

"Oh, please, child, it's written all over your face," Mrs. Poole said. "Any woman with half a brain would know that you've made the beast with two backs, to use an old phrase. And you've made that beast with young Mister Crane here. I can see it in your eyes, darling, but I don't blame you. He's quite a handsome young man. Just...don't tell your mother who the father is. Tell her that you had too much wine and that you don't remember."

"Lie to my mother?" Rose repeated, indignant.

"Oh, it's not that difficult," said Mrs. Poole. "I must have done it plenty of times when I was your age, and no doubt you've done it before. Believe me, darling, it's going to save your lover a lot of trouble."

Rose glanced at Ichabod, who was too drunk to understand a word of the conversation, and then looked back at Mrs. Poole. The two women locked eyes for a moment, and then the younger one nodded. "Thank you, Misses Poole," she said. "And thank you for offering Ichabod a means of transportation back home." She kissed Ichabod on the cheek and stared at him affectionately for a moment, then disappeared into the east drawing room again.

* * *

After the Christmas celebration, Ichabod and Rose became somewhat estranged; not out of choice, but out of necessity. Ichabod took a long time recovering from his first alcoholic overdose, and his household's financial woes were of no help. Lord Crane was carted off to debtor's prison within the first fortnight of the new year, leaving his young heir to manage the house all by his lonesome. The servants were of some help, and managed to preserve the property just a little while longer. 

But just a little while longer just wasn't going to cut it.

Eventually, Ichabod experienced some less than pleasant encounters with a few men who wanted their money. They were prepared to seize the property, as Lord Crane had agreed, if their fee was not paid by March of 1781. But Ichabod had no money to pay them, and a part of him knew that they wouldn't hesitate to kill him and take the house by force if he didn't comply with their demands.

But some time in late February, his salvation came...yet it was something of a blessing and a curse. Having been given nearly two months to recover, James Hall had displayed an incredible will to survive. He was up and about by the third of February, which meant that the wedding was held on the fourteenth of February, St. Valentine's Day. It was a private ceremony held in Rose's spacious backyard, with very few people in attendance, if only because Rose was going on two month's pregnant at that point. James pretended not to notice. And Ichabod could only watch from afar.

After the wedding, Mr. Hall more or less had two houses in his name, just as soon as the elder Hughes' died. And with a new bride, he felt on top of the world and ready to help out those less fortunate. Of course, his generous gaze fell first upon the unfortunate Crane boy, because it was what his wife wanted.

However, the bargain James had in mind was not what his wife had been expecting.

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Disclaimer: I own everybody but Ichabod and Lord Crane, but we probably won't see him ever again, because he's in jail!

Once Upon A Time  
Chapter Sixteen

Mr. James Hall came to call at the Crane residence one day in late February, while Ichabod was attempting to make some sense of his ever-falling financial status. He was in the library, as usual, mumbling to himself and occasionally scribbling things down in various ledgers and on pieces of paper. The double doors were open, and so James stood in the doorway for a moment and watched his son puzzle over his problems. But once his feelings of tender fatherly affection passed, he was all business.

He cleared his throat and rapped his knuckles upon the wall, which caught Ichabod's attention immediately. The thoroughly confused and utterly exhausted young man looked up, dark eyes wide in curiosity. But when he saw who was standing in the doorway, he did not feel the least bit better. "Oh, it's you," he said.

"Were you hoping to see Rose, perhaps?" James asked. The question was innocent enough, but the tone of his voice was so smug that Ichabod felt tempted to give him another bruise or two.

"It would have been nice, yes," Ichabod admitted.

"Well, then you'll be glad to know that I've come here on her behalf," James told him, walking further into the room. His footsteps were uneven, and the small thumping of the cane he had been made to use seemed to echo throughout the room like the loudest sound imaginable. He paused by the bureau, where he took a perverse pleasure in seeing how terrible his son's finances were. "She knows you're in trouble, everyone knows. But no one has yet done anything about it, so Rose has asked me to offer you some sort of bargain."

"You mean you'll offer an ultimatum," Ichabod said, knowing that this man was up to more than he was saying.

James smiled slyly. "Yes," he said, turning to face Ichabod, "an ultimatum indeed. I'll pay off your debts and restore your home to its former glory, without any financial contribution from you."

"And what about me?" Ichabod said. "What do I have to do?"

James shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't care what you _do_," he said. "I only care where you _go_." Ichabod's mouth dropped open just a little bit in surprise, and James' sly grin widened. "I'm going to pay your debt, buy your house, and leave you with nowhere to go. Nowhere _except_ New York City."

"Why New York City?" Ichabod asked.

"Honestly?" James said. "Because it's the first place that popped into my head. I'll even finance your trip and give you enough money to support yourself for a month or two. And one more thing: if you agree to my conditions, you can't ever come back to Hartford again."

"And what if I don't agree to your conditions?" Ichabod asked.

James chuckled. "You already know that," he said. "The men will come and demand their money, and you won't have it, and then they'll send you off to debtor's prison with Lord Crane. Or they'll kill you." He glanced from side to side and then leaned toward Ichabod, whispering conspiratorially, "Personally, if I were them, I would want bloodshed for all the grief I'd been put through." He leaned away again, the smug, sly grin still set securely on his face.

Ichabod considered his options, but knew deep down that Mr. Hall was right. In the end, he simply didn't have the money to pay the men who wanted it, so he would either be thrown in debtor's prison (from which it was nearly impossible to escape) or killed. Neither one was a very appealing option. Then again, neither was the prospect of never coming home to Hartford. But it was better to be homeless than to be dead, he supposed.

So he finally sighed and said, defeatedly, "All right, the house is yours, along with all the servants in it. I'll go to New York City and won't ever return. But please, Mister Hall, you must allow me to do one thing."

"What is it?" James said.

"I beg you, just let me see Rose once more before I go, just once more," Ichabod pleaded.

James considered the young man's request, and finally decided that it was only fair. So he nodded and said, "All right. On the day of your departure, you may have a quarter of an hour alone with her. But _only_ a quarter of an hour. No more."

Ichabod nodded and said, as he shook his father's hand, "Agreed."

* * *

The day of Ichabod's departure was the last day of February, the twenty-eighth. On that day, he stopped by Mr. Hall's house, where Rose was waiting for him in the library. The instant she saw him, she gasped and ran to him, wrapping her arms around him in a tender embrace. "Oh, Ichabod," she said, "I'm so sorry. James is so cruel. He twisted everything to his advantage. I never meant for this to happen." 

"It's all right," Ichabod said quietly, hugging her tightly and stroking her hair. "I know you never meant any harm. And I don't blame you. My father is just a cruel man. I should have known he was planning something like this." He sighed, and then he pushed Rose away to hold her at arm's length. "But we haven't got time for all of this. We have only fifteen minutes, and I must say what I want to say before my time is up."

They sat down on the sofa and simply stared at each other for a moment, utterly at a loss for words. Then Ichabod cradled Rose's cheek in his hand and said, "Oh, Rose, I love you so much, and I'm so sorry. I wish it didn't have to be this way."

"But it doesn't," she told him, tears in her eyes. "You can stay. You could hide. He would never find you."

He shook his head. "He would," Ichabod said. "I know he would."

"I could come with you," she said, sounding almost desperate. "I could take some of the money and we could build a life together in New York City."

"But he would know where we were," Ichabod said. "And he would find us, he'd hunt us down. And I can't risk you getting hurt. I would never be able to forgive myself if anything happened to you. Or Adelaide."

"I can feel her," Rose said quietly, in a sort of breathless wonder. "I can feel her growing inside of me, getting larger and larger every day. It's wonderful." She took his hand from her cheek and held it to her stomach, which had indeed gotten larger since the last time he'd seen her.

"Incredible," he said, staring down at her stomach and then back up at her face. "Our daughter," he said, in the same sort of breathless wonder. Then a disturbing thought entered his mind. "James must know," he said. "He must be able to tell."

She shook her head. "He seems to ignore it," she said. "Which is just as well, I suppose. I only hope that he won't hurt her. But I don't think he will. He knows I would go straight back to my parents if he so much as laid a hand on me."

"Well, at least he respects you," Ichabod said. "And at least he's smart enough to stay away. But you will be all right, won't you? When I go to New York City?"

"I'll be able to handle things," she said. "Besides, even if we don't see one another ever again, I have the assurance that you will meet our daughter. She'll find you, she'll seek you out, I know it. I'll tell her everything about you, and I'll remind her every day of who her true father is. And one more thing," she said, "promise that you'll write to me."

"I wouldn't dream of not writing," he said. "As long as you don't think he'll intercept the letters."

"He shouldn't," she said, "but I'm certainly not going to show them off to him. Will you be all right? You've never been to New York City, and it's a very big city."

"I'll be able to handle things," he said, smiling. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. "Oh, dear," he said, "my carriage must have arrived." He kissed her passionately on the lips, then gently kissed her stomach. "I love you," he said to her, "and Lisette." And then he dashed out of the door, casting her one last forlorn glance.

And that was the last time they ever saw one another again.

* * *

Oh, but it's not over yet! I've got to write an epilogue, you know, so stick around for that. The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	18. Epilogue

Disclaimer: I own...like, not a lot of people in this chapter. Go figure.

Once Upon A Time  
Epilogue

Twenty years later, Constable Ichabod Crane sat up in bed and rubbed his sleepy, blood shot eyes. His wife, Katrina, was sound asleep beside him, and their son was snoring in his cradle against the wall. They had named him Bartholomew, after Katrina's favorite uncle, and he was hardly one year old. Already he had his father's dark hair, but he had his mother's soft, round face through and through.

Ichabod stood up and crossed the room, walked over to where his son lie sleeping. He placed his hands on the edge of the cradle and stared down at Bartholomew, so angelic in his slumber. Ichabod smiled at the boy and then thought of the daughter he didn't know, of the child that his family didn't know he had. But no, she wouldn't be a child anymore, he supposed. She would be at least nineteen by now, if not twenty.

Suddenly, there came a knock at the door, and Joseph Masbath, now a gangly teenager of sixteen, quietly entered the room. He spoke to Ichabod in whispers, saying, "Constable Crane, there are two people at the door, a man and a woman. They're here to see you, apparently."

Ichabod furrowed his brow and glanced at the ornate clock hanging on the wall. "At this ungodly hour?" he asked.

"Yes," the boy told him. "I think they must be husband and wife," he continued, "because the woman looks awfully pregnant."

"What are their names?" Ichabod asked.

"The man only introduced them as the Lutwidges," Joseph said. "He didn't give his first name, or his wife's."

"Did either of them say what they wanted with me?"

"No. But it must be something important."

"Why do you say that?" Ichabod enquired.

"No woman as pregnant as that woman would even step outside of her house in that condition," Joseph said. "And the pair of them looked like they'd been traveling for some time, because there was a carriage piled up with luggage waiting behind them on the street."

Ichabod considered this a moment, then glanced briefly at the peacefully sleeping Katrina. "All right," he finally said to Joseph. "Let's go see who they are."

Little did he know that the people at his door would change his life forever.

* * *

And so ends the tale of Ichabod and Rose, but at the same time another begins. I'll be starting the sequel very soon, and hope to post it just as soon as I can. So I thank you all for taking the time to read this and leave reviews. It's good to know that one's work is being read and appreciated. So until the sequel, the blood is the life, Sikerra. 


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